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targrayenbunny · 21 days

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Unforgivable (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond and you are tired of being pawns. Instead of chess, you decide to play draughts.

Requested: Yes! Because nothing is more PDA than murdering the man who dares touch your wife.

A/N: Isn’t like, a rite of passage writing Baratheon reader?

Warnings: Mature language, attempted SA (Bedding ceremony, ripping clothes), implied smut. Enemies to lovers to the cursed play.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.”

Being a second born son isn't easy. Getting all the responsibilities and none of the recognition stings, yes. But nothing does more than knowing you are the spare, and that the throne is right at your fingertips. It is like throwing a steak in front of a dog and ordering him not to slobber.

Aemond is not a dog. He is a dragon. And that makes it much more worse. He can’t help but crave, but want. Sink his teeth on it and snarl, tear apart until nothing is left. As he rides towards the Stormlands, with the very real possibility of running into one of his nephews in his future, he thanks the Seven for his self control.

As he left, his mother had reminded him of the importance of behaving with the utmost decorum. To secure the alliance, Aemond must perform his duty and forget all thoughts of vengeance.

Were it to turn into an all out war, they are greatly disadvantaged. The number of dragons they have is not enough to form a real opposition to Rhaenyra. If they have enough soldiers, though, perhaps it will make the whore think twice about starting it.

But even without her, Aegon needs this. He will forever need to prove his legitimacy as a King to the rest of the realm. After all, their father had nearly twenty years to make him heir and had only done so as an afterthought. Everyone would wonder what did that say about his character. His brother needed to prove himself a capable ruler, one that would unite the Seven Kingdoms and protect them under his banner.

This is a war that will be fought through connections and resources, not violence. Aemond’s hatred cannot jeopardize that. Duty must come above everything else.

He only hopes duty doesn’t come with the face of an ugly cow. Securing the alliance with the Baratheons is vital, and his grandsire had made it apparent Aemond should use any means necessary to get what they required.

“Play your cards right, Aemond.” He had said, staring at a map of Westeros. If looks could make an entire nation bend the knee, it was for sure that after that glare, all the Kingdoms would be for Hightower. “Offer them trade, lowered taxes… Borros is an easy man to fool. Never was one for the letters, that one. But if he won’t budge… He has five daughters.”

Aemond had only nodded. Despite not being spoken out loud, the message was clear. Try not to, but if necessary, marry one of the little fools. For that was what they were, with a father as Borros Baratheon. Everyone in the Stormlands knew their lord could not read. And the so-called Four Storms were praised for their beauty, grace, and manners. Not for being particularly learned.

Five daughters. Surely, his grandsire had been wrong. Everyone he asked agreed there were Four Storms. It had struck Aemond as odd, that he would make such a simple mistake. Otto Hightower was a figure larger than life, a great thinker that commanded every room he was in, and blessed with an excellent memory. But it was not as odd when considering the amount of stress the poor man was under.

Everything felt urgent and not quite real. Aegon’s transition had been an easy one in the logistical side of things. His grandsire and mother had been already running the realm. But despite being prepared for Rhaenyra’s resistance, they hadn’t expected her to actually gain supporters. They had prepared, but Aemond still felt as if none of this could actually be happening.

His lack of a bride, purposeful in case an alliance was needed, was soon to come to an end. He felt much like he imagined maidens must feel like. Aemond was about to be sold to the highest bidder, and in this case, that was Borros Baratheon. And whichever of his little fools was the least annoying.

Well, he was in no need of a clever wife. If it were necessary, Aemond would pick the more pleasing one and be done with it. He could place her in another wing of the Red Keep and not have anything to do with her.

When he enters Storm’s End, Aemond is taken aback. He had done his research about the Baratheons. Four Storms. A couple of sons. Borros and his old Lady Wife. But the gossip he had been privy to had been outdated. Because next to Borros Baratheon sits a girl in a smaller throne. You. His new bride.

Borros doesn’t stand up to greet him. Neither do you. Aemond fights to remain calm, despite the display of disrespect. He focuses his attention, instead, on the contrasts between the two of you.

Borros is sprawled without a care, legs spread and belly sticking out. You sit primly, legs crossed at the ankles. You are a beauty, next to the man you are married to. A maiden in the bloom of youth, around Aemond’s age. What could have possessed your family to marry you to such a beast?

It had not been an indiscretion. You do not show any sign of being with child or being nursing. You also sit very proper and proud. If you are a little deviant, it doesn’t show in the way you hold yourself.

The lady of Storm's End, mother to the Storms, has to have passed recently. Otherwise, it would make no sense why Aemond had not heard of it. And while he understands the urges men tend to have, when faced with a second chance at marriage, this is a bit much.

Aemond was in no place to judge, considering his birth had been the consequence of a similar match. Yet Borros Baratheon was no king in need of heirs, and you were young enough to be his daughter. Seven Hells, if Aemond’s guess about your age was right, you were around the eldest Storms's ages. Disgusting. Your beauty was wasted in such an unmannered, daft beast.

“Prince Aemond.” Borros says, lazily scratching his belly.

“Lord Baratheon.” Aemond hates himself for it, but forces himself to bow his head. Then, he turns towards you. “Lady Baratheon.”

“To what do we owe the honor?” The answer is dripping in sarcasm. Borros, of course, must already know why Aemond is here. He has either already made his choice about what side he is on, or he intends to make Aemond grovel. Neither sit right with him. The thought of humiliating himself for a Lord’s pleasure is one that makes his back stiffen and anger burn hotly in his stomach.

He is a Prince of House Targaryen. Not some beggar that has come to plead for aid. But Aemond grits his teeth and starts sprouting the script he had written in his head as he rode here.

“It’s with great sadness that I inform you of my father’s passing. Of course in these trying times, we must remain united, and no house has stood with Targaryens…” The speech has as much emotional conviction as if he were speaking about the reproduction of cattle, which is to say, none. He knows this is not what will convince Borros. He is a simple man. Borros likes good food, good wine and women. The language he speaks it's not flowery, heartfelt speech, but rather gold and land.

“So you seek an alliance.” Borros extends his hand, impatiently. Aemond nearly bristles at the interruption. He only manages to keep his temper in check through years of taking Aegon’s insults. “Pass me the letter your grandsire has written.”

“Here.” Despite knowing the man doesn’t know how to read, Aemond hands it to him. Men’s egos are fragile things, and he knows too well how the sting of embarrassment can fuel hatred. He is not going to risk his chance and insult him.

Borros opens it. He scans it over, noticing the royal seal. Then, he shifts towards you.

“Girl, come here.”

Aemond's brows raise. Did Borros keep you by his side not only for his personal satisfaction? The existence of your little throne makes more sense that way. Surely, not even that fool would be so crass as to have you on display just to show off his younger bride.

You go to him, barely acknowledging Aemond. You skirt around him as if he were part of the furniture. He gets a whiff of your perfume, something expensive and decadent. It’s that what makes Aemond take a second look at you.

You wear a black velvet dress in one of the latest fashions of the capital. You are dressed better than most ladies at court, hands, and neck dripping in jewels. Your hair is held back by a golden hairpiece that emulates the antlers that the Baratheons are so famous for.

Perhaps you are a way for Borros to flaunt his riches. A power play meant to intimidate visitors. Not only has he managed to get a younger bride, but he showers her in jewels. It might be a way to show off his manliness, to show his vassals and other lords that he is still powerful and virile. It has to be the stupidest thing Aemond has ever seen.

You take the parchment from Borros's hands. All tiny steps and swaying hips, you get even closer, to whisper in his ear. Your muttering is fast and frantic, and despite how acute Aemond's hearing has gotten since the loss of his eye, he can't make out the words.

The expression on the Lord's face shifts, from annoyance to amusement.

“Taxes? Lowered taxes?” Borros asks, nearly laughing. “That’s all you are willing to offer?”

It had been, in fact, all that his grandsire had been offering at first. The best thing to do when starting a negotiation was to start lower than what you actually intended to offer. Then, when you gave in and offered more, the other person would feel like they were winning.

“No, my lord. Merely the starting point. If you read the last few paragraphs, you will see trade…” Aemond tries to redirect the conversation back to the important part, but he is surprised to find that he can’t. Because you cut him, smoothly, and with a smile so sharp it might make Vhagar nervous.

“We will see you offer us a trade deal that’s worse than what we already have. Are lowered taxes and worsening of our trade deals what we should expect from our new King? I shudder to think how King Aegon treats his enemies, if this is how he treats…”

Aemond's eyebrows raise. So you speak. And quite eloquently. Strange for a trophy wife. Even stranger, that your husband allows it. Men who marry little girls young enough to be their daughters are not known for their consideration towards women.

“My Lady, with all due respect…” Aemond needs to stop you because if what you say it's true, then his grandsire has made a grave miscalculation. Or a shrewd attempt to fool Borros Baratheon. Knowing him, the second one is more likely. He has a tendency to underestimate other’s intelligence. It was a flaw often found in bright men. Aemond suffered from it himself.

You do stop speaking, staring at him with hatred in your eyes. You either hate men, him, or being interrupted. Perhaps all three. Your eyes narrow, and you look on the verge of doing something very unladylike.

Gods. If you were Helaena, or his wife, he would already have reprimanded you. Aemond turns towards Borros, hoping to get some show of camaraderie from the man. Women, so easily offended. Surely, he would put you back in your place.

But instead of scolding you, the man gave Aemond an angry scowl.

“I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my daughter, Aemond Targaryen. Let her finish.”

The omission of his title would have stung in ordinary circumstances, but not this time. He was too busy gawking over the fact that you were not Borros' wife, but his daughter. You two were nothing alike.

Daughter. Of course. That’s why the man defers to you, why he has you seated to his right. At least that count his grandsire had gotten right. Five daughters, indeed.

“As I was saying. I do not understand why we should take your side. We have yet to receive an offer from the other contenders. Your terms are not generous enough to declare yet.” Your answer is clipped. You are clearly annoyed with him, but you do raise good points. Aemond sees no trouble in listening to you. If Borros wants to indulge you, a little girl playing politics, he won't be the one to stop you.

“So you think, my lady, that you should play both sides?” Aemond arches an eyebrow, leveling you with a glare. No matter how many good points you make, he is not above intimidation to get what he wants. He knows he cuts an intimidating figure, with the dark clothing and the eye patch. Many of the women at court avoid him for that very reason.

But unlike the women at court, you do not wither under his gaze. You bloom. Your back straightens, and you give him a calm look. Your eyes are sweet, almost as if Aemond were flirting with you and not looming menacingly.

“It’s hardly that. I’m simply waiting to make an informed choice. You barge in here, unannounced and in a hurry, hoping to pressure us into an alliance you clearly need.” Your speech is well pronounced and to the point. As soon as you voice it, you seem to lose all interest in him, brushing past to get to your tiny throne.

Aemond turns and stares, unashamedly. The nerve on you. While you might have seen through him, it didn't allow you to just disregard him like that. Who did you think you were? You were just a lady? He was a Prince, the blood of the dragon!

“And we Baratheons are no pushovers.” Borros adds, approvingly. He seems to take your opinion, turning towards you for approval. The man clearly loves you. “We are stags.” Your eyes narrow. Your father clears his throat and rushes to add. “And does. We do the pushing.”

It’s not a good line, but it gives Aemond an opening. If the man cares for you such, it's not wealth that will sway him, nor the promises of land. There is only one thing a man with five daughters could want, especially regarding his favorite one.

“I do have something else to offer.” Aemond says, eyes firmly on Borros. He is purposely excluding you from the conversation, knowing it will sting. Good. You have been horrible to him so far, you deserve it.

“Do tell.” You insert yourself regardless, and he turns to you with his more welcoming smile. You have just dug your own grave, and you don't even know it. It will make his victory much sweeter.

“I would marry you. You are beautiful, and clearly intelligent.” Aemond's expression turns malicious. Your face pales, turning an awful gray shade. You know as well as him that you can't deny him.

“And what use do I have for a second son?” Your hands go to your hips, and you jump out of your tiny throne. You stalk forward, all bared teeth and bravado. Gone is the pretense of sweetness. When cornered, you bite and bite hard.

The insult stings, and Aemond has to fight the urge to slap you. You got quite the mouth and a talent for knowing where to strike. It’s a dangerous combination. He wants nothing more than to exert vengeance, but confronting you now would be unwise. Instead, Aemond fantasizes about what he will do to you if he ever gets you as a wife.

Pinch you. Tug on that pretty hair. Maybe smack you in the arse until you were begging for forgiveness. His mouth twists into an ugly smile. The mental images give him the strength necessary to turn towards your father and try to sway him.

“My Lord, you cannot keep her here forever. You surely know what will happen when you are no more. She will depend on the mercy of his brother. The Lady needs someone to take care of her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way you are baring your teeth. Whoever said you were a doe was wrong. You look more like a boar, pretty features twisted in rage.

Lord Baratheon laughs. This time, it's not mocking, but full of humor. Aemond decides it to take it as a good sign.

“And so you now ask I give you my doe. You are a bold man, Prince Aemond.” Definitely a good sign, then. Now he is suddenly a Prince again. Aemond turns towards you and gives you a smug grin. Your hands wrap so hard around the fabric of your pretty gown, he hears a ripping sound. Your father remains oblivious.

“I would be her fiercest protector. Staunchest supporter.” Aemond hurries to reassure him. Borros just needs a little push to give in. He can practically savor it. What does a father fear the most when handing a daughter away? “I would never force her to obey me beyond the reasonable respect a wife should have for her husband.”

It is, of course, a load of crap. He fully intends to take you down a few pegs. But what Borros doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Father…” You cut in, urgently. Your father is too busy looking at Aemond like he is his hero to notice. The expression on his face is close to orgasmic bliss, as disgusting as the thought is. Any more, and the man will burst from happiness.

“She would want for nothing. I would treat her as it befits a woman of her station. There would be no greater joy for me than getting her hand in marriage.” Aemond pleads. That is true. At least halfway. You would live comfortably, he would make sure of it. And he would be glad to marry you, if only to be able to get his revenge. Would you want for nothing? Doubtful. You would probably want your family, a loving husband, being away from the Red Keep… But financially, you would be set.

Borros stands and gives Aemond a pat on the back. His expression lights up, looking ten years younger. In contrast, your face falls. You look between the two of them, shaking hands, and look ready to bawl.

“It will be an honor to join our houses, Prince Aemond.” The man boasts, joyfully. Aemond smirks. As petty as it is, he feels as if he has conquered a Kingdom. There is nothing sweeter than the look of pure defeat you wear.

But hearing your father so happy about the match seems to be the last straw for you. You step between the two of them.

“Why not Floris? She is the prettiest among us all. Or Maris? She is very learned!” The offer is desperate, and by the look on your face, you know it. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as if you cannot believe your words. Betraying your sisters for your own safety seems low. Aemond can tell you don’t mean it, but knowing that you are trapped so well you are lashing out pleases him.

Your father's hand goes to your wrist, and he pulls you forward. You go easily, and Aemond makes a mental note of it. He finds interesting how easy you are to subdue if handled properly. Your father seems to have a knack for it.

“You will have to forgive my doe.” Borros says, ruffling your hair affectionately. You stare, looking like a disgruntled kitten. It's clear you are not impressed. “She has the Baratheon temper, but can be quite sweet too. Hence, the name.”

“Of course.” Aemond says, magnanimous. He will need to play the devoted fiancée until he has you out of here, less your father regrets the agreement. But after… Oh, he is going to have fun taking you down a few notches. “Only looking out for her sisters. After all, it's odd the eldest is not married and this one will be.”

You smile at him. Your smile promises pain. Aemond wonders, for the first time, if you have similar plans for him. If you do, he welcomes the challenge. It will be even sweeter when he prevails.

“She is very sensible.” Your father plays with a stray curl behind your ear, tucking the hairpiece more firmly. He remains ignorant of the heated glares Aemond and you are exchanging. “Always has wanted to be swept off her feet, though.”

“Father, perhaps he should take a look at my sisters first. The famous Four Storms.” The words come out between gritted teeth, eyes still burning a hole through Aemond.

“I don't need to, my lady. Are any of them as politically inclined?” He does not dare reach for you, with your father on the way. He would like to touch you. Aemond is not sure about why he feels that urge, but he thinks it is due to your infuriating nature.

“They are not. Cassandra, the eldest, is the friendliest. There is also Floris, the most beautiful, and Maris, the most learned. Ellyn, I'm afraid, is too young.” You rattle, counting with your fingers.

Borros coughs. He eyes Aemond warily, as if expecting him to suddenly announce he doesn't want you anymore. The man loves you, but he is not blind to your faults. Something about his attitude makes Aemond think that this is not the first time you try to spook a suitor.

“I see.” Aemond answers, coolly. “I do not want a Storm. I want a Doe.”

You glare even more. You go sit on your little throne. By the Sevens, you truly are disagreeable. Spoiled, pampered, and with a temper unlike he had ever seen. A match made in the Seven Hells.

Your father gave Aemond a curt tilt of the head. Aemond sighed, and went to kneel by your side.

“I want to court you, if you will let me.” He grabbed your hand. Your skin was very soft, but your palm felt clammy and cold. Curiously, he dared slip his hand lower, checking your pulse. The beat of your heart was not steady, but rushed, and it filled him with a sense of achievement. You were terrified. Smiling against your skin, Aemond pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I did not lie when I said I found beauty in your mind and words.”

It was no lie. You were beautiful in the way young maidens were, sweet and untainted. But you had a mind as sharp as any man. It was a combination Aemond would have admired greatly, were it not for the fact you were a terrible, spoiled brat.

“A war is about to break out. I don't see where you would find the time.”

“If your father allows it, I would take you with me.” Aemond stepped slightly closer. Perhaps, he could entice you. “Would you enjoy riding a dragon?”

“Ah, so you can abandon me in some forgotten wing of the Red Keep and have me away from my family?” It comes out bratty, and scared. A little girl who fears being alone.

Borros tenses at the tone. Almost as if acting on pure instinct, he reaches towards you. His hand goes to grab at your arm, making sure you are still there. Aemond will have to tread carefully, else he missteps and loses all the progress he has made with the man.

“You would have a seat at Aegon's council.” Aemond takes your hands in his. He is on his wits end on what he could offer you. Never before has he met a woman so unimpressed by anything he has to give. In your tiny, sheltered world, everything is perfect already.

“Gods know he needs it.” Borros muttered, under his breath. Aemond ignores him, choosing to squeeze your hands instead.

“I would listen to you.” He pleads, but you, terror of a girl, are ignoring him. Your eyes are focused elsewhere, no longer in his. A guard is hurrying forward, and Aemond can tell the wheels on your head start to turn.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon!”

Aemond, kneeling next to you, straightens. You curl your hand around his.

“Don't!”

“My Lady…” Aemond fights your grip, trying to detangle himself from you. Your hand goes to his nape. You squeeze, as if directing a dog.

“You said you would listen to me.” Your grip is firm. “Prove it.”

Aemond is seething with rage, with the urge to chase and tear Lucerys apart. But you do not budge. Your hand turns into a chain around his nape, a collar for a dog. You force him to remain kneeling at your feet as your father dispatches Lucerys.

Humiliation bubbles up at his throat, choking him. Not even the Pink Dread incident had come close to this feeling. Utter, profound, embarrassment. He can feel his nephew's eyes lingering on you, in the display of affection that seems so casual. A suitor kneeling for his lady, resting his head on her lap. It could be affectionate, were it not for the fact that it’s you.

Aemond is not hiding his face in your lap to feel you pet him, no matter if you behave like he is. Instead, you are forcefully keeping him in place, and he rather look the lovesick fool than the weakling who can’t fight a woman’s grip.

You pet his hair. You smile. He is powerless to stop it. It is then Aemond realizes that you are more dangerous than he had thought. You were so used to bending men to your will, he had not noticed that you had done the same to him.

Not any longer. He would make you pay. He vowed it.

“When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

You liked your life. Your sisters were sweet, if a bit distant. Your father was caring, to the point of actually listening to your opinion. The library was full of books, and you had warm furs and pretty dresses. Life was good. Why would you choose to leave this behind? Storm’s End was your safe haven, the place where you could be yourself. You wouldn’t trade it to go live at the Red Keep with a bunch of incestuous deviants whose reign was under question. You refused.

The thought of going away and having to play the dutiful wife to Prince Aemond made your stomach turn. You were not stupid. You knew the amount of freedom you had here was unusual. There, your voice would be silenced. Nothing you said would be of consequence as it was here. Even if they listened to women, they wouldn’t listen to a stranger. If you were King Aegon, you would rather have your mother’s council over the one from a strange goodsister.

Making sure the door to your rooms was locked, you threw yourself on the bed and screamed from rage, muffling the sound in your pillow. You were frustrated beyond belief. Anything you had tried, Prince Aemond had countered. And your father! Oh, your father had given you away so easily, as if you were no more than cattle. Did he truly believe that you would be treated as promised?

How could your father be so blind? He had not felt Prince Aemond tremble from rage, when he heard the voice of his nephew. The one who had taken his eye. He had not seen his expression sour as you interrupted him and proved yourself to be smarter than he was.

You stood up and looked around. You kicked your bed, and quickly regretted it. Your shoes offered no protection against the impact, and you swore.

“Seven Hells!” And you looked around, embarrassed from your outburst. But there was no one around to witness it, and that fact enraged you even more. You wanted to make your annoyance known.

Your rooms were empty, not a single maid in sight. They were probably tending to your sisters. There was to be a feast in honor of the Prince, but you had no plans to attend. Hence, you had called for no attendants.

You started to pace. Aemond Targaryen would regret taking you from your home. You vowed it. Despite knowing you were falling victim to childish pettiness and letting it cloud your senses, you couldn’t help it. You were angry. Angry. Angry. You wanted to claw his remaining eye out, pull on his hair, elbow him as hard as you could.

Women had everything to lose when it came to marriage. It was their destiny. They lost their connection to their house and were sent to another. They changed hands like property. And the men, the owners, had everything to win. Trading a daughter off like one would do to a rook before starting a game of Cyvasse, they gained an alliance. And receiving a woman, they gained a dowry and vessel for their children.

You knew the day would come where you would be plucked from your home, but you had foolishly hoped that being one of the many Baratheon daughters spared you from that fate. There were so many of you, your father could not hope to marry you all. You wanted to be more than just a way for a man to gain heirs.

But instead, you were going to be carried off towards a place far from your home, where you would not get to be a person fully. You doubted Prince Aemond would give you the same leniency your father gave you, or that he would listen to your opinions. No matter what he said, he was still a man. And not any man, but one you had humiliated.

Men did not often like realizing you were smarter or bolder than them. Those characteristics had served you well to keep marriage away during the years, but it seemed like this time they had failed you. Not only they had made Prince Aemond interested in you, they had also angered him. After seeing the look on his face when his nephew had entered the hall, you could tell he was not one to forgive and forget.

You could have handled it better. By the Seven, you were smarter than him. Why had you been so hostile? If only you had thought to manipulate him back then. How could you have been so stupid? You grabbed a vase and threw it to the floor with all your strength. It shattered into tiny pieces with a loud noise. It didn’t make you feel any better.

You sobbed. A look at the broken pieces and you thought of your maids, having to pick it up. The thought made more tears come to your eyes. There was a warm, wet feeling clogging up your throat. You were not such a bad person as to make them clean a mess you had made purposefully, so you kneeled and started picking up the pieces.

The commotion clearly attracted someone’s attention because there was a knock on your door. You ignored it, and continued obsessively picking up the pieces. You placed them all on top of a cloth, arranging them neatly. The ceramic was sharp, and the borders made your hands sting, but none drew blood.

The knocking became louder.

“No!” You shouted, denying whoever it was. Probably one of your sisters, checking up on you. Or a maid. Or guard. Who knew. You just wanted to be left alone to wallow in your misery.

“My lady, the Prince is requesting….” Of course, they weren’t checking on you. You did no longer matter. Now, you were little more than cattle, mattering only in regard to your owner. This what not the life you had envisioned, not at all.

“And I said no.” Why should what Prince Aemond wanted matter more than what you wanted? You wanted to be left alone. Be able to come to terms with what was going to happen and think of a plan. What was your next move? You had no time to think of it. Already he was imposing his presence.

The servant did not answer. You thought you were finally going to be left alone, but the respite was brief.

“Sister.” Floris’s voice echoed in your rooms. She had a loud, commanding tone, similar to your own. She had gone ahead and opened your door. “You should not behave like this.”

“I do not care.” You sat down on your bed, arms crossed over your chest. Despite knowing you were in the wrong, you didn’t need her to rub your mistakes in your face.

“You should.” Floris took a dress out of one of your trunks. It was one of your yellow gowns, made with intricate gold stitching. She laid it down on your bed, smoothing the skirts down, and gave a pleased sigh. “It is like a fairy tale. You get to be a princess.”

“I do not want to be a Princess.” You looked at the dress and scooted towards the edge of your mattress, trying to avoid it. Floris spanked your thigh, hard enough to make you yelp. “It is the truth! I don’t…”

“Then think of it this way.” She interrupted, annoyed. She, too, had the Baratheon temper. “That man that you are rejecting and humiliating is the man you will spend your life with. Who will have power over you. You are smart. You know this.”

“Father could…”

“Father is not going to change his mind.” Floris frowned. She smoothed your hair down. The hairpiece was making your head hurt, but just like your father, she only tucked it in more firmly. Your head felt heavy. Floris wiped your tears away, examining you with a critical eye. “You are a lucky girl. You have our father’s favor. Win the Prince’s.”

“I told him it should have been you.” The confession slipped from your lips, unprompted. It brought a smile to her face.

“Then you are a fool.” Floris smirked. You could tell she meant every word. Your sister had always had ambitions above her station, much like yours. But hers were more in line with what was expected of your sex. “Had it been me he had chosen, I would have not thought it twice. Fix your face. Before he decides to fix it with his fists.” She gave you one last look, before leaving you to your rapidly darkening thoughts.

You did not need the reminder of what Prince Aemond could do to you, once the two of you were married. You knew. But she had put it so coldly….

Floris was hungry. She had always been. Ever since you were children, she had always craved more. In a household full of girls, she had gotten used to fighting for her due. And not only that. Floris always managed to thrive. Were it her in your shoes, you had no doubts she would have Prince Aemond wrapped around her finger and a plot to get him either power or riches so she could keep a lush lifestyle. Her advice was blunt, but well-intentioned. This was an opportunity, and you should treat it as such.

You got up. You washed your face. By then, it was very late. The storm continued hitting the castle with the same vigor. There were hardly any servants in the halls. You went to sit at one of the windows, watching the rain fall.

Despite the late hour, something told you he would come to you. Sitting on the windowsill, you could taste the tang of metal against your tongue each time you breathed in. The night felt electric. You knew it was just what storms were like, but something about this one felt foreboding.

Watching the water made you feel calmer, and more focused. As the droplets tumbled down the sides of the castle, you reflected. But no rationalization helped you vanish the thought that this night was significant. Destiny was changing right under your eyes, and you could do little but watch it unfold.

“Here you are.” He spoke, after an eternity. You turned your body towards him, but made no move to get up. Somehow, watching him loom over you felt wrong. Like he shouldn’t be.

“Here I am.” You replied, before softening your voice. “I was waiting for you.”

Instead of softening himself, Prince Aemond scowled.

“You are the most impudent woman I have ever met. Haven’t you learned that you should address your betters properly?”

His comment grates on your nerves. You want nothing more than to scream at him. But then, you remind yourself of what this is. An opportunity.

“I apologize, betrothed.” You say, very gracefully. “Do you wish to sit with me?” And you add a good bat of your lashes for good measure. It usually works on your father, so why not on him?

The Prince frowns. He seems to take your much more subdued behavior as sarcastic.

“You are absolutely impudent. When we marry…”

You interrupt him before he can say more.

“You will hit me?” You raise your eyebrows. “Is that what you mean to say?”

He reaches for you. You flinch back, before remembering you are right at the windowsill. The window is high enough that the fall would kill you. You scream, panic taking hold. You reach for him, for the sides of the castle, for anything that could save you from certain death. Aemond grapples at you, desperately grabbing your shoulders and hair in a death grip.

“I have a right to discipline you. And I will, if you do not mind your tongue.” He snaps, pulling you against him. He is careful to move both of you away from the window. Your heart beats harshly in your chest. If he had lost his footing, if he had been a second slower… You could be dead. You could be dead.

“Discipline. Discipline.” You repeat to yourself, in a daze. “As if I were a child.”

“You behave like one. I will treat you like one.” His expression is very telling. Your face heats up. You swallow. Dead. He could have killed you. You are not too sure how you feel about your confrontation with mortality.

“And if I apologize?”

“I am not sure if I will believe a change of heart.”

And oh, how it stings. He wants to humiliate you. It makes your anger flare up again. You clench your fists and stare at the rain. You count to ten in your head, watching the droplets fall outside.

“Of course, my Prince.”

"Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,"

The storm passed, and so did your tantrum. You had become very quiet and subservient. The perfect wife. It unnerved Aemond.

Had the near-death experience rattled you as much as it had him? Aemond kept thinking it had been his fault. He shouldn’t have reached for you in such a manner, yet at the same time, the fear in your eyes had filled him with vindication. Your heart had beaten as fast as the one of a frightened bird. He had been able to feel it through your pulse points, jumping under his hands.

He had had your life in his hands. And it had felt great. That was what power was all about, Aemond thought. And oh, how low you had been brought by it. Gone was your uppity attitude, gone your terrible manners. You had clung to him like a frightened child, pale and anxious. Something roared inside him, Aemond had finally felt like the conqueror his ancestors were. A true dragon.

You had not made mention of the incident to anyone else. Of that, he was sure. His soon-to-be goodfather would have not allowed the wedding to go through. And your sisters would be much more afraid of him. Instead, Aemond had Borros singing his praises and little girls chasing after him, begging to play or older ones trying to curry favor.

Despite having been humbled quite throughoutly by fate, you were not one to sit idle. You were a spitfire, and so, Aemond could not help but believe he was being lulled into a sense of safety before you would strike. But what were you planning?

Your blank looks and serene smiles gave nothing away. No matter how cutting his remarks, or insulting his words, you did nothing but stare. At most, you would fake a laugh. Suddenly, it was as if you had become as empty-headed as your sisters. It drove him up the walls. He would have given anything to know exactly what you were thinking.

Your composure finally broke on the day the two of you were set to depart. You were to travel with Aemond to the capital, which meant flying on Vhagar. A look at his dragon, and your face crumbled. Perhaps, you remembered the last time the two of you had been alone and in the heights. Perhaps, you feared the oldest dragon alive.

“Girl, here.” Lord Borros ordered, passing your belongings to a servant. You stared sullenly. Your father gave you a look, becoming you over.

“I do not want to go.” You stomped your foot. Your antler headpiece shook with the motion. It made your face scrunch up even more. Were you…? Oh, you were. It was priceless. No matter his constant harassing, not even once had you looked close to tears. Not even when he had crudely remarked how he was going to bend you in half and spank your pretty little arse for your defiance before taking you during the wedding night. Not that he was actually going to do that. Aemond just liked frightening you.

“Lord Baratheon…” Aemond warned. He was unsure of what or why he was doing it. He should be loving this. You were finally breaking under the pressure. But instead, he felt oddly empty. It was much better, much more stimulating, when you fought back. Now, it felt oddly like a kidnapping. As if he were taking some poor, delicate girl from her home against her will.

It was stupid. Marrying was the duty of every noblewoman, and you were not a girl. You were his age, for the Seven’s sake! But you looked so hurt, so defenseless… It was not at all like he had envisioned.

What was different from that meeting in the tower than from today? Was it, perhaps, that in certain lights you looked disturbingly like his mother? You had the dark Baratheon hair, and when he watched you from behind, you looked just as powerless.

A Prince was not supposed to hurt women. It was what made him superior to Aegon. The maids in the corridors did not run from his mere sight, nor did the noblewomen avoid sitting by him at feasts. He was thought of as dutiful, not a deviant.

But frightening you had felt delicious. There had been something so primal in your fear, something that had made him feel sure of himself for the first time in years. Aemond had been in control then. He knew his mother and grandsire would be disappointed in him, but he couldn’t help it. He was as twisted as any other Targaryen. Must be the Valyrian blood.

Aemond had been raised under the faith of the Seven, and so, still had some empathy and principles. If he had not been as pious as he was, he would have been as lost as his brother after his first taste of real power. Aemond wasn’t, and so, still felt capable of being sorry for the woman he had so admired at the beginning. Despite all your disagreeable qualities, you were sharper than anyone else he had ever met.

“Girl, you are going.” Borros looked like he was starting to get angered by you. Privately, Aemond felt a bit annoyed at his hypocrisy. He said he was not escorting you to the capital because he had business to oversee as the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond could tell that wasn’t the real reason. He would rather not give you away because it would mean saying goodbye to you forever. You would no longer be his, but Aemond’s.

His ire, the only way Borros had of showcasing his feelings, had not spared anyone lately. Your Lady Mother had been called a dumb whore more times that Aemond could count, for not preparing you better. Your poor sister, Casandra, had been belittled by him after daring to ask about the fate of the dresses you wouldn’t take with you.

“If a daughter of mine is becoming a Princess, you can bet she will take all the dresses she needs, and I will not have you behaving like a vulture.” He had screamed, red with rage.

Floris had wisely hidden herself in her rooms. You, instead, had screamed right back that he was fuzzing too much and that he was overbearing. Which Borros was. The man fuzzed over you, making sure you had the best of everything to take with you, to the point of overwhelming. The row had been spectacular, and it had ended with you giving him the silent treatment, as he muttered fondly about his proud little doe.

It made Aemond think of his father. After his death, he had only felt panic and a sense of urgency. Never grief. But this man, so rough, so ignorant compared to his own father, would be wept thoroughly. He could already tell.

Right now, of course, similar as you were, neither of you got it. Instead, you gave your father a look of absolute betrayal and ran off, trying to hide your sadness at his scolding tone.

“Ah, that one. She is not used to harshness.” Borros shook his head, as if whatever you were going through was a product of female hysterics and not the fact that you were grieving the loss of your home and family.

“Or being told no.” Because you wouldn’t be like this if Borros hadn’t raised you like this. Most noblewomen resigned to their fate early on, they were not raised with delusions. Borros had a point, your mother should have prepared you better. He should have, too.

“I am afraid I might have done her more harm than good. I have always had a soft spot for her. Out of her sisters, she is the most like me.” Borros voiced exactly what Aemond was thinking. His reasoning, though, made him have to try hard not to cringe. While not exactly the prettiest woman on Westeros, you were tempting enough. You had nice manners, when you cared to use them, and a sharp intelligence that spoke of a deep cultivation of the proper arts for a lady.

“She has my temper, I mean.” Borros chuckled, once again guessing his thoughts. In looks, you took after whatever ancestors were blessed without a warrior’s physique. “And she is much more gifted with her letters.”

“Oh.” Aemond said, quite dumbly. He had underestimated Lord Baratheon, just as he had underestimated you. The great beast of a man wasn’t just a beast, but rather gifted with talents of his own. While he may not have been able to read great treatises of philosophy and history, he could read intentions and thoughts just from a man’s face.

“A good thing, in a man. But in a woman? She is not used to not being heard, she is loud and takes a lot of space. The world is not kind, not kind at all, to women like that.” Lord Baratheon spoke, again showcasing a deep insight Aemond would not have thought him capable of.

His mind wandered. Rhaenyra. Loud, brash, bold. Charming when she wanted to. Yes, the world wasn’t ind to women like the two of you. After all, weren’t him and Aegon trying to usurp the throne right from under her? Just because they didn’t agree with how she had chosen to live?

It had been the wrong choice, sure. But it had been the path Rhaenyra had picked for herself, just as you had planned to do before Aemond swept in. Lost to perversion and sin, perhaps producing your own bastards. No. Your course needed to be corrected, and thank the gods Aemond was here for it. You needed to learn your place. He would listen to you, but you would always follow his lead. That was the only way to keep you on the right path.

“No, it is not.” He agreed, still thinking of how he could help you. Stubborn little doe that you were, Aemond knew it wasn’t going to be easy. And worst thing? You were brave. Many women would have cowered at the sight of him, or at the threats he had thrown your way. Not you. Not even once, beyond that time in the tower, you had looked afraid.

“You have to promise to not try to break her.” Borros warned, clapping a hand against Aemond’s shoulder. The man threw all his weight behind the gesture. It was considerable, and Aemond was once again remembered of why they wanted the Baratheon alliance so badly. Borros Baratheon was a brute, yes, but a great warrior. Deadly with the Warhammer.

His hand squeezed Aemond’s shoulder so hard, he thought he might bruise. A threat, thinly veiled. Aemond prided himself on the fact that he did not flinch under it.

“Many men would. It is the easiest approach.” Because it was. What could you do with a woman who was not afraid, and who was used to doing as she pleased? The same thing his Uncle had done to Rhaenyra. You broke her. In whatever way it was necessary. Either through pleasure or through pain.

It was known that women were more carnal creatures. They lacked the impulse control men had. They were more prone to sinning, and they were more often controlled through their basal needs. That was why they had no business on the battlefield or in the throne. And why the thought of having a home and nurturing children spoke to them. They were just all instinct and emotion, with an overall lack of rationality.

“But you are not just any man, are you? You are a Targaryen. Your house needs strong women.” Borros argued. Aemond cringed at the word. He was right, despite the unfortunate wording. You were not just any woman. You had shown yourself capable of more rationality. Perhaps Aemond had to nurture that in you and get rid of your most instinctual behaviors. Teach you by example, until you understood the role you had to play.

“Then what? She will not come willingly, that much is clear.” But how? How? That he now knew what he had to do did not mean he knew how to get there. It could take years, and right now, you had to leave before sundown.

“Her anger will pass. And a bit of advice. She works better when it is the carrot and not the stick.” And it made sense, it showed rational behavior. You didn’t balk at the first sign of pain, but you were greatly tempted when faced with rewards. Much like him, you endured.

You had been raised a brat, yes. But an intelligent one.

“Come, you spirits

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood.

Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

Th’ effect and it."

The view from atop Vhagar is spectacular, but you can’t seem to enjoy it. It is a unique opportunity. Aside from those with valyrian blood, no one gets to just ride a dragon. Much less, the most ancient one. But Vhagar is too terrifying for you to sit at ease on her, and you keep thinking of that night in the tower.

You don’t want to die. A fall from here would mean plummeting to your death. You are overly conscious of your every move. You don’t want to die this far from your home. Lately, it feels as if death lingers around you. There is danger everywhere. On top of the stairs, near the training grounds, on top of Vhagar.

Aemond seems to be having the same thoughts because he grips you so tightly to him that it nearly hurts. Every time you breathe, his hands move with your stomach. He is holding you so close it’s making you feel awkward, but you are too afraid of falling to say something.

Storm’s End and the Stormlands are becoming smaller in the distance. Without meaning to, you start to tear up. You no longer can see the banners from the top of the towers, and you can’t remember what they looked like. It’s such a silly thing, being unable to figure out if it is the Baratheon sigil or just a plain yellow one, but it makes a pang of sadness take hold of your heart.

You suddenly wish you had spent your last days memorizing your childhood home and spending time with your family instead of trying to vex Aemond. He is now all you have. The only person outside yourself who will remember your home once in the capital. You bet Aemond never paid as much attention to the details as you did, but surely, he must remember something.

Perhaps that thought is what prompts you to curl your hands around his wrists, seeking comfort. He stiffens, and moves his hands higher up your bodice. You let him go without a word.

“What are you doing?” Aemond whispers against your ear. The wind makes it hard for you to hear him otherwise.

“I am scared.” You answer, trying to project your voice over the wind. He gives a put upon sigh, but reaches for your hands. When his hands envelope yours, you nearly jerk in surprise. Aemond is warm, and touches you very gently. Much more than he had the night of your betrothal. You had not expected him to conform to your unspoken offers of a truce, thinking him as proud as you.

“You should not be. Vhagar is a well-experienced flier.” He soothes, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. You lean back against him, and Aemond seems to welcome the gesture. His breath changes slightly, but you can feel him relaxing against your back.

“It’s not about Vhagar.” You sniffle slightly. “I…” But how to explain? How to explain all of this to a man? This feeling of loss, of not belonging. Of being taken, yet at the same time doing your duty. He would never understand it.

“Why are you scared? Aren’t you so proud, so self-sufficient?” It seems Aemond hasn’t forgotten the slights you committed against him. While he might be willing to indulge you when it comes to fear of Vhagar or heights, he seems annoyed by anything else. You wish he wasn’t. Being comforted by him had felt really nice. For a second, you had actually thought everything was going to be alright.

“Don’t be like that.” You plead, voice breaking slightly. You don’t want to sob, but you feel on the edge of it. Aemond’s hands squeeze yours. He sounds tired when he next speaks.

“You have not apologized.”

“Nor have you.” You say, taking a deep breath. You are trying to keep your tone even, but anger leaks from your next words like poison from a wound. “I admit my tone was not the best. But you treated me like cattle. Or worse, a pawn.”

“Pawn?” He asks, the words seeming to give him pause. You jerk one of your hands from his grip, angrily wiping away your tears.

“On your brother’s game. Do not insult my intelligence, Prince Aemond.”

“We are all pawns. You, me, Aegon.” His tone is sharp. As if you should know this already. Are all men such fools, you wonder? Why would anyone be a pawn on someone else's game when they can play King on their own?

Cyvasse has always been a pastime of yours. You learned how to play it as a child, on your father’s knee. As he planned his ambushes against the dornish and commanded you to watch closely, watch better. There was always an out. Prince Aemond could not see it now, but you could.

“I do not want to be a pawn.” You whisper to him. A test. A prod, to see if he is willing to change the game.

“Neither do I.” He answers, grimly. Prince Aemond kisses your temple, soft and sweet. And the idea grows in your mind. Perhaps, this is not a Cyvasse board but a draughts’ one. They are easily mistaken, after all. Both checkered. But in draughts, even the most simple of the pieces can dominate the board.

And there it is. The opportunity you have been looking for.

“Is this a dagger which I see before me

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.”

The day of your wedding ceremony, a storm rages around the Red Keep. You and Aemond exchange your vows inside the royal Sept, with an air of grim determination. None of your family is in attendance. His, instead, fills the seats of the Sept.

His grandfather proudly boasts of the alliance to anyone who is willing to listen. It is no secret to anyone that the dismissal of Prince Lucerys from Storm’s End has made Rhaenyra’s cause take a blow.

What did Borros Baratheon see, that convinced him to betroth one of his daughters to Aemond? The nobles ask themselves. Surely, if even a renowned fool like him could see something wrong with Prince Lucerys, it must be obvious for the whole realm to see. The question mark on the legitimacy of those Velaryons changes into an exclamation sign. His poor, Strong nephews, doomed not to inherit anything at all.

“Well done, Aemond.” His grandfather had said to him, pulling him aside after Aemond had returned with you and the promise of Borros Baratheon himself leading his men into battle. “The girl, she reminds me of your grandmother. Bright, but well-behaved. I am glad you found enjoyment in your duty.”

And surprisingly, Aemond had. He had warmed up to you on the ride home. You were sweet when you wanted to be, and he had finally managed to find some common ground with you, which made you more interesting.

You still had impulses. But when asked to cooperate and behave in front of his family, you had proven surprisingly agreeable.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to cause your Lady Mother a fright. I understand she is heavily burdened.” Your last comment had been said with a puzzling smile on your lips, and Aemond had found himself losing sleep over it. What did you mean by that? Were you making a subtle dig at him? Or was it at his siblings? Or perhaps, simply commenting on the near civil war about to break out?

The memory follows him all the way to the hand fasting and the wedding feast. The storm outside does not subside, perhaps a goodbye to the doe that is now becoming a dragon. You tear up during the hand fasting, and even manage to look the hopeful bride. If Aemond had not been betrothed to you, he would have thought you loved the idea of marriage. That you loved him.

You do not. It does not bother him. Both of you have agreed that love will come with time. For now, you are both trying. You are much better at it than him, less cold and guarded.

“I want us to be friends, at least. Care for each other.” You had said, holding his face in your hands as you shared your first dance as a married couple. Aemond had not been expecting the gentle touch from you, focused on not missing a step. He had startled. But you had guided him to look you right in the eyes, expression sincere. “Or I shall wilt so far from home, husband. We have been doing better.”

“We have. And I care.” He had brushed your hair away from your face, sensing your melancholy. It must have been hard on you, Aemond mused, getting married without any of your family present. You had been behaving spectacularly, but you were still very sensitive. Your father had warned him about it for a reason, after all.

“I do too.” You had reassured him, eyes glassy, before hugging him. Aemond had decided then that he would need to protect you from any harm. You were awfully fragile, nothing to do with the Storms you had as sisters. His doe. Dramatic, vain, but so sweet.

His new resolve faces its first test when the feast starts to die down. The bedding ceremony approaches, and your eyes, nervous, go from the increasingly drunk Aegon to Aemond and towards the empty seats left behind by his mother and grandsire.

Aemond only needs to follow your gaze a few times to understand what you are trying to convey. Gone are the only two possible moderating influences on his brother, his mother had retired when Helaena had become upset by the noise and his grandfather claimed being too old for such a celebration.

The crowd gets rowdier and rowdier as the end draws near. They are drunk and eager for a show, and know the best one is about to be provided by the two of you.

Aemond has already decided to endure this. While the thought of those hands all over his body it's not a pleasant one, he doubts the women would dare go any further. You, though. Your laugh is stilted and your eyes keep darting to the exit. Determined as you are to appear brave, you force your lips into tense smiles.

It’s not long after before someone calls for the bedding. All bravado, you get up on your own when the men, led by Aegon, approach you.

“Gods, you are a lucky bastard.” He says, as he starts to tug at the sleeves of your dress. Something tightens in Aemond's chest and he sees red. He had hoped that he had conveyed to his brother that he cared for you, but Aegon either didn’t care, or was stupid enough not to notice.

How could he? Even his grandsire had congratulated him for finding pleasure in duty, it was that evident. And Otto Hightower was not exactly the most perceptive of men when it came to emotions.

Aegon eagerly rips one sleeve out of the bodice, and you can't hide your flinch. Aemond sees it even among the crowd of women that are trying to divest him of his own clothes. Some lord's hands are greedily wrapped around your waist, squeezing your flesh. There is panic on your eyes. Brave, stubborn, little doe that you are, you don't say a word.

But even if Aegon had not noticed, how did he dare touch something that was his? The only thing to his name, and he dared envy it, try to take it away. Aemond had endured Aegon’s needs going first his whole life. Seven Hells, even marrying you meant catering to him and putting aside his own desires. But his brother was too selfish to even keep his hands to himself and not fondle his bride.

There is another ripping sound. The other sleeve of your dress, now gone. You struggle to keep the bodice up, a hand against your chest, but some lords are already jeering and tugging at the waist of your dress. You whimper, barely audible.

“Enough!” Aemond orders, pushing away the women and grabbing his gambeson from one of them. Enraged, he nearly throws the men off you. “Enough. No one touches her.”

“Brother, we were just having a bit of fun…” Aegon shouts, and Aemond grimaces. This close, he can smell the alcohol on his breath. What a poor excuse of a King he was, drunk and groping a woman who wasn’t his to touch.

You flock towards Aemond like a scared bird. He places his gambeson over your shoulders, trying to cover you in case the dress fails to stay up. You shrug it on, gratefulness shining in your eyes. It only serves to irk Aemond further. He wants to strangle Aegon and his stupid friends.

“I do not care.” Aemond barks, and pushes Aegon off him. “Where is the Septon? Send him in, now.”

“You should not take that tone with me.” Aegon warns, puffing up his chest and advancing again towards you. You flinch, huddling impossibly close to Aemond’s side.

“I do not care! What do you think this is? First night?” Aemond snaps, right back. The confused crowd stands back, starting to notice something is wrong. “Did you ever paid attention to your history lessons or were you drunk then, too? It is abolished!”

“I…I…I” Aegon splutters.

Aemond huffs. He grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, to the delight of the crowd. Many men cheer and hoot, but he makes sure to keep their hands away from you.

“I laid their daggers ready;

He could not miss ‘em.”

Your hands still shake when he sets you down. For a moment, you had thought you were being carried off to be bedded, and all the nasty promises Aemond had made you before your truce had come to mind. He had a right to it — now. Your father was not coming to save you.

Panic had threatened to drown you. But then, once the two of you were out of sight from the crowd, Aemond squeezed one of your hands and placed you down on the corridor for you to make your way there on foot.

“Thank you.” You say to him, once in his chambers. Yours, now. The thought brings tears to your eyes, and you are not sure why. You knew you were going to marry him, and he was not as bad as he seemed. Why were you crying?

The day had been taxing. Emotionally and physically. Sadness and excitement had all mixed into one, and the wedding preparations had not allowed you a second to rest. You had been on your best game, bringing Aemond over to your side, and enchanting the court. Laying the groundwork for when you decided to move your own piece.

You had not planned for the reality of Aegon Targaryen, though. Being almost assaulted on your wedding feast was not what how you envisioned meeting the King. It only steeled your resolve. You had to get rid of him.

But no matter how politically sharp you were, you were still a woman. The threat of assault and rape would forever hang over your head, no matter how high in the game you were. And it hurt. Because you could never win.

You sob. You had been doing everything right. How could this have happened to you?

Aemond approaches you from behind, loudly. He is almost always silent in his movements, a predator stalking prey, so you know he must be exaggerating for your benefit. One of his arms wraps around you, trying to comfort you. The touch is tentative, hesitant. When you do not pull away, Aemond hugs you fully from behind, pressing his forehead against your nape.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity. Until you were no longer shaking in his arms, until you had no tears left. Only then, Aemond pressed a soft kiss to the first knob of your spine. And to the second. And the third. He softly traces the places they would be under your skin, lavishing them with attention.

You don’t stop him. His touch is comforting and familiar. Aemond has saved you twice now. That night, when you were enemies in a tower. Tonight, when you were already his woman.

When he reaches your bodice, he doesn’t tear the broken garment apart. Instead, he unmakes every button with care. The dress slips from your form with a soft murmur. For a second, the reminder of Aegon, his friends, and what they had tried to do to you, makes you tense up.

Aemond doesn’t say a word. He just hugs you to him, cradling you in his arms. When you are calm again, he kisses your nape once more.

Your eyes dart towards the bed, in the middle of the room. Around it, some candles provide a low lighting. Aemond kisses your shoulder, and moves one of the straps of your shift aside.

You shudder. Your knees feel weak. It’s a new feeling, but one that fills you with warmth. Pooling in your stomach, towards your core. Making you slick between the legs.

His kisses move from your shoulders, down your arms and towards your wrists. Each kiss feels soft and warm. It makes you forget about King Aegon and his friends, and their dirty little hands all over you.

Aemond touches you softly enough to want to lose yourself in his touch. It is clear he has done this before, and that he cares. Your husband, your improbable ally. So you do. You lose yourself in him, in his body, in the kindness behind every touch. It is only as you come to be, laying with your head on his chest, that you think of it again.

You are satisfied and warm, laying under the covers. Aemond is by your side, eye closed. Softly, you run your nails down his chest, watching the skin and flesh give. His body is so different from your own, thin and elongated, but softly muscled from all his training. There are some scars on him, pink raised flesh standing out among the white.

“You are smarter than him.” You say, your voice low. You are speaking treason.

“Hm?” Aemond’s hand starts caressing your back. His eye remains closed.

“Your brother.” You reply, listening attentively to his heartbeat, You try not to tense under his ministrations, not give your move away.

“I was more dedicated to our studies.” Aemond’s heartbeat starts to feel faster. You feign calm, focusing on other things. It would not do to let your excitement show. You trace a more silvery scar on his side. You wonder how he got it. Training? Riding Vhagar?

“Your education was fit enough for a King.” You say, after a while. You are so close you can taste it. Shifting to lay on your stomach, you peer up at him from between your lashes.

“It is.” Not was. Aemond’s eye meets yours. Your look turns knowing. “It’s no use. He was born first.”

“The world is cruel. Princess Rhaenyra, too, was born first.” You say, boldly. What is it, to usurp a usurper?

Aemond smiles. Slow and cruel.

“He should not have touched you.”

His hand goes to rub at your shoulder. There is a mark there. His teeth, bruising and awful blue. What had possessed him to do such a thing, you did not know. Otherwise, your lovemaking has been soft and tender. Not at all what you had expected.

“With a brother like that, you have to learn to share.” You whisper, once again treason.

His grip on you tightens.

“The only man I intend to share you with is the one who will be my heir.”

It is only years later that you come to know the truth. Both of you are old and scarred by the many atrocities you have committed. The first, of course, the hand you had in the murder of the King.

The chronicles will tell, years after, that it had been a confusing incident. Someone had poisoned Aegon. Not you or Aemond, of course. A servant on Prince Daemon’s payroll, who had been tipped about what wine the King would drink. With him, goes each one of his sycophants. It starts a war. Aemond and you stand, silent watchers of it all, as both sides tear each other apart, conveniently sent to a diplomatic mission with Dorne that bears no fruits.

Is it more of a crime to be the hand that wields the sword, or the man who in the face of an atrocity just watches? His nephews die. All and each one of them, including Aegon’s children. Until both of you can march into King’s Landing, Baratheon forces at your back, and take the Iron Throne.

“Do you remember our wedding night?” Aemond asks, as you watch your grandchildren play on the foot of the Iron Throne. You sit on his lap, cradled comfortably. It has been worth it, you think. It has all been worth it.

“Of course I do.” You smile, so in love with him it hurts. Your sword and shield. Your King. The one that you chose to place on the throne.

“There was a mark on your shoulder.” Aemond rubs the spot where a scar has formed after all the times he had bitten you when you made love. “His fingers were all over it, and I thought, if I lack an eye, he will have to lack a hand.”

The next king wears an antler crown. History books will not remember you or know what you did. But both Aemond and you do, and as you share a secret, vicious smile, you know it. The most dangerous thing to walk the Red Keep was you all along.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon

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targrayenbunny · 1 month

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trying

Hi. I've been into fandom for over a decade now and I have just started to feel comfortable and confident to comment on amazingly talented author and artist work but I also just started to try to write my own. It's new and scary but if anyone has any tips, tricks, advice, or even has the time to maybe beta read so stuff that would be great,

Sincerely signed a 22 years old trying to make friends on the Internet

P.S. if it wasn't obvious for the fact I said 22 years old please child don't interact

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targrayenbunny · 1 month

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☀️sunfyre and aegon ii☀️

(X)

#aegon targaryen ii #house of the dragon #sunfyre #aegon ii targaryen

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targrayenbunny · 1 month

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Losing Dogs

Neither you or Aegon wanted to get married. Neither you or Aegon wanted to marry each other. But at some point, you figured you should make the most of what you had, and so you offer your husband a deal he cannot refuse.

Aegon Targaryen x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, arranged marriage/loveless marriage, smut (piv, virginity loss, rough/loveless sex) DD:DNE, alcoholism, violence, suicide/suicidal thoughts & ideation, mentions of domestic/child abuse, death, pregnancy/misarrange, aegon's mommy issues, insecurities, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ... i had something to say about this fic but i forgot... maybe ill remember later???? edit: i did not remember. i thought of mitski while entitling this so go play i bet on losing dogs ig?

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @azperja @sloanexx @risefallrise

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

Aegon only truly understood what this meant the day he was married and he was forbidden to drink a drop of alcohol.

As if it wasn't painful enough that he was going to be married to a complete stranger from some house he's never fucking heard of, he was erratic and uneasy the whole day because of the withdrawal. He loathes the preparation, the ceremony, the fucking pageantry of it all.

He thinks it was worse that you seemed to be so chipper the entire time. You smiled with a halo, skin shining with the light. You also seemingly did no wrong, judging by the praises you received from his mother and grandfather. But, who was he kidding, of course they fucking loved you, they chose you to be his prison keeper.

You did not press him once, not when you were preparing for the ceremony, not when you were at the feast, not even after the Queen encouraged you to dance.

Anyone with eyes could see from how he slumped on his chair during dinner that Aegon would rather die than circle around the room to this grating noise echoing the room.

The band begins to play another song and another round of dancing ensues.

He stares at the food on the table. Oh, to be a suckling pig.

The relief that coursed through him when he could finally leave was enough to knock him out. Except, he really wanted, no, needed a drink.

He crashes on his bed, belly down, and reaches for the cabinet door on his bedside table. He feels for his bottle, hand knocking into the corners of the compartment, but he sits up when he finds nothing.

He growls in frustration upon realizing this was definitely his mother's doing. Thief!

"I managed a cup."

Aegon struggles to look over his shoulder from his position. He rolls on his back as you walk to the side of the bed.

He stares at you. You offer a glass holding burgundy liquid. Your voice is soft and kind as you explain, "your mother would suspect me if I took a whole bottle."

Aegon pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the bed, facing you. He gulps at the wine you were offering.

Sure, he may not be the brightest, but anyone could tell this scene was the epitome of ulterior motives. Aegon leans on his thighs, "why are you doing this?"

You stare a moment. You clutch the cup in both hands and examine it. Again, your voice is gentle, "you are clearly in torment. It hurts my heart."

His eye twitches.

I see. It seems you were a fucking saint.

Aegon rips the glass out of your hands, some of the wine spills over. He downs the contents in one go, then chucks the glass across the room once he finished.

He looks back at you, glaring with watery eyes. He was exhausted, he was angry, and he wanted you to know it. But you don't flinch at the sound of the glass breaking. You didn't flinch at all when he showed aggression. Why didn't you flinch?

You press your lips and sigh. You step towards him and reach out.

He nervously straightens up and tilts his head back as you approach. His breath hitches when your warm hand touches his cheek. He blinks rapidly.

"It's been a long day. Would you like me to help you change?"

Again, his eye twitches.

And then he realizes what you mean.

Ah. So, this is what you wanted?

He releases a breath, eyes lowering. Your face falls into a slight frown.

He thinks about it for a moment. I mean, sex was sex and he was game. It didn't matter how he performed, his completion was all that mattered, really. And you were pretty enough, albeit irritatingly good.

When you stroke his hair, Aegon pulls at your skirts, causing you to squeak and topple, hands flying to his shoulders for support. Your faces are inches apart. He pulls you down until you have no other choice than to sit on his lap.

You can smell the remnants of the wine he just drank on his breath. Aegon brings his face closer to yours, and you let out a soft 'hmp'. You mutter, "I gather you don't want to change, but want to get out of your clothes."

He narrows his eyes as you shift on his lap and undo the buttons by his chest. He mutters dumbly, "this is what you wanted."

With knit brows, you retort, "I've not yet told you what I wanted." You shift on his lap again as you peel his top off. Amidst it, he asks, "what do you want?"

You grunt after ridding him of his top. You fold it in your arms then set it aside on the bed. You turn back to him. Aegon's breath hitches when you fondle with strings of his undershirt. He watches your lips as you mumble, "I want you to give me a ride on your dragon."

He furrows his brows. But that's what he just said.

You stand, only to lift your skirt and take your place back on his lap. This time, you straddle him.

Aegon gulps, hands coming to your hips like a magnet. He feels you grind on him; shaky breaths leave his lips in response. His hands scratch up your back and a moan escapes him when your nails trace his collarbones.

"Allow me one trip on Sunfyre, and in return, I'll be your magic lamp," you whisper, taking one of his hands, bringing it to the side of your ribs, "you may rub me where you like-"

His heart skips when you kiss his cheek.

"-and I will grant you all your wishes."

Aegon ticks.

The next moment, he pushes you down on the bed. He doesn't bother getting either of you naked, nor does he prepare you at all in fact. Thankfully, you were already wet.

You don't have the opportunity to ask him to be gentle, to explain you were a bride after all, and it was your wedding night.

Aegon grips your skirts as he fucks you like he means to prove a point. He snaps his hips roughly into you to assert dominance, to exemplify control. Sure, you offered yourself to him, but he was the one doing the work, and you were the one beneath him.

In truth, the pace he set gave you more pain rather than pleasure. And with how pent up he was, the rough tempo he set burnt him out way too quickly before it could make any of you feel good. And when he begins to lag, you start to feel good.

You notice this change and rub your nose against his. He recoils, unused to affection when fucking. It snaps him back into an aggressive trance.

You yelp. Aegon convinced himself it was a sound of bliss.

You kiss his jaw and work your way to his ear, hoping to calm him down. He tenses at the feel of your tongue on his lobe. It stokes flames in his belly and makes him involuntarily roll his hips slower to focus on the attention you're giving. In return, his pace is just enough for him to hit that spot that makes you throw your head back.

Aegon is startled by the scratchy groan that leaves your throat. He finds himself lifting his head to spectate, but you pull him into you by the nape and groan, "like that. Please- gods - that feels good."

His brows tense and he rolls his hips again, finding the same reaction.

You wrap your arms and legs around him, uncaring of how hot and sweaty you were getting. In the heat of the moment, you reach for his lips, needing them, needing something to wrap your own on.

Aegon kisses you. He kisses you with a strange twinge in his chest. He kisses you until he has to pull away and reposition himself to catch his building climax.

In a second, he's back to his fuck-loving self, only self-serving and lustful. As he gazes upon your writhing body, catching the beads of sweat on your skin, the concentration on your face, and the way you chant his name as you part your legs for him, he's overcome by another spirit. To watch you break, to watch you coil and collapse around him felt just as urgent as his need to come.

And so Aegon rubs your clit and forces you to peak first; you do it so well he curses loudly and comes after.

He lays on top of you for a moment, the overwhelming need to be held ripples through his body. He recalls how his whores shoo him away after he's done fucking them though. Before you can cradle him in your arms, he rolls off you.

You close your legs and and watch him strip himself and sequentially change. You watch him get back in bed and bring himself underneath the covers. He goes to sleep.

He fucking goes to sleep.

You feel hollow after this, but tell yourself it's nothing personal. You repeat this as you, yourself, get up and change, sequentially sleeping too. Or at least you try. You have fight the urge to cry for hours before you do.

The next morning, you bring up dragon riding to Aegon, and disappointed as you are, you are unsurprised to find that he was unwilling to give you such a thing.

It was a plain thing you were asking for, you explain. And it's exactly why he doesn't want to do it. It's clearly some trick, something to trap him, something he's going to regret. It was probably some ploy orchestrated by his mother.

Oh gods, he thinks, it's worse. It's a bonding experience so you can make him into your puppet. Fuck. No.

So, he does what he does best, and makes an excuse, "I don't feel like riding today. I'm still exhausted from the festivities."

You purse your lips and nod, "that's understandable. Would you like for me to get you something?"

Wait. You weren't going to argue about him not keeping his end of the deal?

You seem to catch this, considering your response and the way you take his hand. You place his palm on your chest. He can feel your pulse quicken as you mutter, "I am your magic lamp, husband. I wish to please you. I will prove this until you trust me enough to grant me a ride on dragonback."

He narrows his eyes, "you would grant me wishes, all in return for a ride on Sunfyre?"

You smile softly at him, "in return for respite, yes."

He doesn't trust your smile.

"I want to visit the Grey Cliffs. I have for a years now. I went there once as a child and long to go again."

"Why?" he knits his brows at your explanation, "what's there?"

You lower his hand and rub his skin, "respite, my prince."

Aegon pulls his hand away.

Very well. If that is what you want, then he will wear your wishes dry until you find it no longer worth the trouble.

Aegon wishes on his lamp everyday, and his wife sequentially plays entertainer, jester, servant, and slave.

He makes you bring a bottle of wine with you everywhere, and pour him a cup when he wishes. He loathes how you seem unbothered by it. He loathes how you don't even correct a visiting Lord who mistakes you for a cupbearer and simply serve him some wine. The Lord is mortified when he realizes you are his wife, a fucking princess. Aegon hates how you tell the man you were unbothered because you spent your whole life being a cupbearer to your father anyway.

He makes you do trivial tasks as well, sometimes tasks meant for more than one person at a time, and yet you still manage to do them, annoyingly better than the maids. When he demanded you cook him a full course meal, you did so all by yourself, and had the servants looking at you like you were some goddess.

He ripped a hole in his clothes then made you mend it. You covered the hole so seamlessly that he poked a bigger one right in front of you. And even then you don't give him the satisfaction of getting angry. You tell him you will embroider something on top of the hole and he storms off. He overhears you telling the servants, who applaud your level-headedness, that you were used to angry men, because your father was just the same.

You use each of these moments to somehow tell him you were the perfect wife and he had to oblige your stupid request at some point.

But then he found your flaw.

Aegon asked you to play the harpsichord for him, and you told him you did not know how. The woman who knew all did not know something? He would then proceed to hang this over your head. When he asked you for food, he'd tell you how much better it'd taste if he had entertainment. If he asked you to do something physically taxing for him, he's say that he wouldn't have asked you to do it, had you known how to play his 'favorite' instrument. He would use this as the reason why he could never bring you to Grey Cliffs.

It was all fun and games, but then you had to snitch, hadn't you?

"What are you doing to that poor girl!" Queen Alicent barked, making his ears ring.

Aegon groans from where he lies in bed. His mother rips the blankets off him, making him wake in a sour mood.

"She is your wife!" Alicent yells, "not your slave! Fine, you wish her to do tasks for you, tasks for your betterment. But to insult her standing by treating her like a maid is beneath a prince, Aegon!"

Aegon feels his throat tighten at the sight of his angry mother's face, "she is my wife," he growls, "I do with her as I please."

She strikes his cheek.

Aegon's head whips to the side. He doesn't have the energy to look back at her.

"You will longer parade her as a cupbearer. I will have it decreed you are not ever served a drop of wine if you don't."

Alicent leaves after this. Aegon's anger explodes when the door closes.

He screams and rips at his hair. He kicks furniture around and eventually drops to the floor, exhausted, furious, and hurt. This was all your fault.

He screams again and claws the tears on his face. He slowly exhales through tight lips. His cheek is hot with saltwater. Who was he joking, this was all him.

This was all Aegon's doing.

His breathing is impeded by snot. He walks over to his window and stares at the ground below. If he jumps head first, not even the best maester in Westeros could fix him.

Before he can lean on the ledge, he is paralyzed in his spot by the sound of the door opening.

"I did not know she would be angry with you," you say.

Aegon looks back.

You see his red eyes and wet skin. He is a mirror to your younger self. You feel sick to your stomach. You try to explain, "I only asked if she could find a harpsichord teacher. I did not realize she would take offense in wanting to learn to play for you."

Aegon's heart aches at your naïve response. You were a stupid, perfect wife, and he, a stupid, petulant husband.

"I'm better off dead," he mumbles, looking back out the window. The call of the fall felt inviting, "want to push me, wife?"

You don't respond.

Aegon looks back at you, and suddenly you're only inches away. He tries to evade you, but you manage to catch his hand.

"We could jump together."

"What?"

Your face is blank. You part your lips, and for a moment, your eyes seem desperate, but then it's gone. You sigh, "dying is quite lonely," looking down, "I could keep you company."

Aegon stares at you. Tears stream down his face. "You're mad," he sniffles, yanking his hand away.

He walks over to his bed and collapses on it. He wraps himself in a blanket and feels sorry for himself, and angry at you for suggesting such a thing. Even now you want to be perfect by dying with him?

"I am," you mutter.

Aegon watches as you walk over to him. You sit on the floor beside his bed and look at your hands as you rub them.

"I cannot play the harpsichord, because my father does not like noise," you explain, "I was not allowed to make a sound or else I would be punished."

Aegon covers his head with a blanket but keeps his face visible, "he beat you, didn't he?"

You look at him, eyes melancholy, but still, he is the only one crying, "he beat everyone."

Aegon does not respond.

"I can sing though."

His brow raises, "how can you sing?"

"I would practice whenever he was gone, and sing for my mother in secret. It made her happy... happy enough."

He knew there was more to this confession, but he was too tired to ask about it, too tired to shed more tears.

"Would you like me to sing for you?"

"No."

"..."

"Would you like me to hold you?"

"..."

You stand from where you sat and get on the edge of the bed. Aegon watches as you slowly lie beside him. You bring an arm over him and pull him close. Aegon closes his eyes as you bring him into your chest.

You hold him until he falls asleep. Later that night, he asks you to hold him again. He also asks you to sing to him.

Aegon nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He wraps his arms around your torso, digging his fingers between your flesh and the bed. Your hushed voice reverberates in the bedroom, the song you sing is haunting and soothing. The vibrations from your chest lull him to sleep. You feel wetness pool by your clavicle but you make no note of it.

Aegon asks you to hold him the next morning after breaking fast. He asks you to stay with him in bed and to sing to him some more. When you have to leave his side, he asks to join you and waits until he can have you in his arms again.

Aegon becomes your shadow, and follows you around, under the promise of getting to share in your embrace. As you read and review letters or ledgers, your seat becomes Aegon's lap. He sleeps against you while you work without a fuss, cheek pressed against your back, arms fastened around your waist.

Sometimes, he notices the line that forms between your brows while you read and at some point, asks about it. You explain what causes it, and he is unmoved, as he is uninterested in politics that stress you. But when you read out to him, he finds comfort in your voice and asks you to read some. He falls asleep to your calm droning of circumstances he could not care less about. He groans and groggily awakens when you stop. He mumbles against your skin that you continue, pleadingly so.

When you had to leave the Keep for business, Aegon insisted that he joined you. When you brushed his cheek and explained to him why he could not go and that you would not be long, Aegon pushed you away and stormed off. You left without him anyway, and the treachery he felt was so great, he realized then how he could no longer go day to day without you. What was there to do, if you were not there?

And so Aegon desperately rubs his magic lamp and wishes upon you.

He wishes that you never leave without him again once you return.

He wishes that you promise to no longer make plans without him.

He traps you beneath him on your shared bed and wishes to be inside you. He kisses you and wishes to see you completely bared to him.

Aegon's mind is dizzy as he gazes upon the glory of your skin. He kisses your thighs, your hips, your breast, your lips.

Aegon wishes to surrender to you. He wishes that you undress him then pulls you on his body like a blanket. He wishes to see you take control. He wishes to see you cast your eyes upon him and lay your weight on his body.

He wishes to see you use him, to take what you need from him, to pleasure yourself, and to make him yours. He squeezes your thighs desperately when you moan out his name. This was much more maddening that what he imagined it would be.

He wishes to feel you come undone around him. He wishes he could forever feel the pleasure he did when he comes right after you do.

He wishes to hold you after. And when he holds you, when you lay on his chest and kiss him there, he wishes to never leave this moment ever again. He wishes to sing to you like you've sung to him.

"What are your plans tomorrow," Aegon asks as he draws nothings on your back.

You lift your head from his chest. He looks at you. You smile, "whatever you wish them to be."

He rubs your back and smiles, "I wish to take you to the Grey Cliffs."

Your expression drops, "what?"

He raises a brow at your reaction. You shift on your place. You straddle him again.

He looks up at you, noticing the line between your brows. He rubs your thighs, "you've granted me all my wishes. It's time I grant you yours." He shifts on his elbows and sits himself up, "it's time you meet my mount and-"

"We don't have to," you cut him off, placing your hands on his shoulders.

Aegon examines your expression. He listens to you sigh.

"I'd like to keep you-- wish to keep you..." you correct yourself, pushing him back down.

He looks up at you, feeling your hands rake up his body.

"...just like this," you finish, eyes solemn, lips curving into a soft smile, "I've not felt a thing like this in my entire life."

Aegon takes one of your hands and places it on his cheek. He whispers it like a secret, "neither have I."

You lean down to kiss him, "I wish to keep like this."

He kisses you back.

He is blindsided by how his wishes come to bite him in the arse. It's all crashing down on him. Suddenly, he wishes he didn't actually do any of those things with you.

He most of all wishes he heard you wrong. He wishes you didn't repeat yourself when he stupidly said, "what?"

"I'm with child," you speak slower, less excited yet excited still.

Aegon wishes you didn't look so excited. He wishes he fucking pulled out, but gods, you felt so good-- you feel so good around him, he felt so good inside you.

He realized the next moment, it couldn't be helped. You were going to have to bear his kids at one point or another. He wishes you didn't have to. He wishes his seed wouldn't take completely. He wishes you don't take it to term. He wishes he won't have to be a father. Fuck.

He realizes he's been too quiet and you were waiting for a response from him. Your face began to twist. Your smile fades.

"Congratulations," Aegon musters. He feels like he swallowed a metal ball. His eyes wander to your belly. He mumbles mindlessly, "I suppose."

Your face falls.

Aegon looks back at you. Your face is devoid of any semblance of the glow it normally holds. You look sick. You feel sick.

"I see," you say, unintentionally allowing him to hear your voice break. Aegon's brows furrow at it.

He shakes his head, "you will be a great mother," he chuckles dryly, "you mother me so well."

You offer him a smile, but Aegon can see how disconnected it was from your eyes. You say, "thank you."

When you leave him after this, he wishes he hadn't said a word. He wishes he just left it at congratulations. He wishes he just pretended like the idea of having a child didn't mortify him and make him sick to his stomach. He wishes he wasn't so ill-suited to be a father.

Ageon no longer wishes for anything after this.

He no longer wishes to hold you, though he so badly wanted to. He no longer wishes to hear you sing, nor does he wish to hear you read to him. He no longer wishes to be around you, though his body urged him to follow you around like the lost soul he was.

He wishes he didn't wonder what you were doing at every moment of the day. He so desperately wishes to rid you from his mind completely that he drowns himself in his first and only true love, alcohol.

Fuck. He wishes he hadn't taken this route to his room. He wishes you hadn't taken this route to wherever it was you were going. He wishes he just turned around and fled like the coward he was, because then, you wouldn't have spoken to him.

"Husband," you curtsey.

Aegon stiffens and uncomfortably avoids your eyes.

You catch it, feeling your chest tighten painfully. You clear your throat and take a deep breath to steel yourself, "I thought you should know that I will be travelling."

Aegon looks at you.

"I have a ship ready and I'll be visiting the Grey Cliffs. Do not wait up for me."

His face falls. He opens his mouth, but doesn't have an opportunity to speak.

"I thought you should also know that I am no longer carrying."

His eyes widen.

"It's not an uncommon occurrence the first few months," you say simply, "I suppose the gods do not wish me to be a mother."

Aegon feels like a murderer. He wants to say something, to apologize, to comfort you, but he can't. He's too taken aback to do a single thing.

He turns into stone when you take his hand. You step forward and place his palm on your chest. Your heart is slow as you speak, "you won't have to worry about anything anymore, Aegon. Today is the end of our shared torment."

Aegon's stomach drops when you kiss him.

His eyes are glassy. You pull away before you can kiss him back. He wants to hold you, but the sadness in your eyes reminds him he is undeserving. You kiss his wrist, "goodbye, my love. I love you."

His heart thumps as you walk away.

Aegon is manic. He basks in the mess he's made and feels crushed by it all.

He finally acts after wasting so much time feeling sorry for himself. You were long out of his sight by the time he started running. This is why he headed to the dragonpit and got on Sunfyre.

"WAIT!" he screams, just as your boat leaves the dock.

Aegon watches as you run to the edge of the boat. He lands Sunfyre and runs as far to the edge of the docks as he could.

"Aegon-"

"Take me with you!" he pleads, "let me be the one to take you to where you must go!"

You look back. The ship stops. The crew brings down a boat and on it, you are rowed back to the dock.

He crushes you in his arms once he reaches you.

"Aegon," you mutter.

"Forgive me," he shudders, "I... I wish you let me do this for you."

"Aegon," your voice croaks. You push him away, "go home."

His heart drops. He breaks away to look at you. Your words feel like a stab at his thorax. It was presumptuous of him to assume you'd want him back, but it doesn't kill him inside any less.

"I've come to realize this is a trip I must go on myself," you mutter.

He shakes his head, "no. Please." He motions an arm out to his mount, "one wish. That I grant you one wish before you throw me away forever is... is--"

Your throat constricts at his words. Tears rush down your eyes, "I'm not throwing you away--"

"Please," he squeezes both your hands in his, "please, let me do this for you."

The flight to the Grey Cliffs is quiet, save for the whoosh of winds and the roars of the golden dragon you both rode. You always imagined it would be freeing, but only now did you know how it freeing it truly felt to fly. You knew now you'd forever chase the euphoric crush of air against your skin.

Aegon, who sat behind you, looks at your form as you outstretch your arms and close your eyes. Your body presses against him, and in this moment, he is unable to hold back from wrapping an arm around you and sparing a kiss on your shoulder. You are snapped out of your trance because of this.

The Grey Cliffs are dark and gloomy when you get there. Aegon realizes when you land that it got its name from the weather conditions.

He helps you down and surveys the area, trying to make out which part of this drear land was so special to you that you wished to go here.

You catch his expression and squeeze his hand.

Aegon turns to you.

You give a solemn look, "the view is better on the edge."

Aegon strokes Sunfyre's cheek, commanding him to stay before you lead him by the hand to the edge of the cliff. Once you get there, he feels queasy looking down at the crashing waves far beneath him. In contrast, you seem comforted by the view. His brows furrow at the deep breath you give out.

When you look at him, his stomach feels it, the comfort you felt upon witnessing the violent waves. Whatever it was that compelled you to this place was the same force that compelled him to kiss you.

He reaches out for your cheek, his other hand coming to you back. He pulls you close. His heart twinges when you stop him from kissing you.

"Aegon-"

"Forgive me," he cuts, "I beg."

You gawk at him. He brushes your hair which was wildly flinging with the breeze.

"You must know by now that I am craven. I lack the spine and the wit to be of any use to you."

Your eyes water. Your lips quiver.

"I would be a hopeless father, worse than my own, no doubt."

"Aegon," you babble as sobs overtake you.

Aegon, himself, succumbs to tears. He wipes the ones streaming down your face before taking a breath, "but you made me feel a love I do not deserve."

You swallow a heavy lump in your throat.

"I love you," he confesses.

"No," you pierce his heart. You shake your head in disagreement, "Aegon, this is a mistake. Bringing you here was a mistake."

"No!" he blurts louder than needed, "this was a choice," he looks down, "I choose to rip my insides out for you to devour. I am miserable, much more in the heat of your hate, but most of all without you."

His downturned eyes land on your face when you grab his wrists. You croak, "I do not hate you."

Aegon is not relieved by the admission, but he chooses to believe you mean it. He smiles softly, "good."

"But I do hate this life I live."

He clenches his jaw. Of course you do.

"You saved me," you press a hand on his cheek, taking your turn to wipe his tears, "even if for a moment."

"I made you miserable."

You chuckle. The sound makes his heart skip.

"You filled my life with purpose," you smile softly, "even when you did not mean to."

Aegon knits his brows deeply and takes your hands. He brings them to his lips and kisses them.

"But accidents happen. You must remember that accidents happen all the time."

Aegon shakes his head, "this is not an accident. Believe me when I say I chose to do this, I- ... I choose to love you."

You sob and turn to your feet.

"Please... believe me."

You sniffle and nod, slowly looking up at him, "I believe you."

You lunge into his arms and seal him into a tight hug. He hugs you back like it's his only way of surviving.

A crack of thunder startles Sunfyre. He becomes restless and steals away Aegon's attention, panicked that he might flee and leave them here.

He pulls away and takes a step towards her. He holds your hand, urging you to follow, "we should go before it rains."

You hug him from behind and press your face into his back, "thank you for taking me on Sunfyre."

"It was a long time coming."

"I've always wondered what it would be like to fly. And now that I know how peaceful it is, I'm ready to fly one last time."

He turns to you as you slowly come to his side. You hold his hand. He looks at you as you turn to Sunfyre. He promises, "I will take you on dragonback as many times as you wish."

You smile, but your eyes are fixed on his dragon. You release his hand and wrap your arms around yourself, "he is beautiful. You must never tire looking at him."

Aegon gazes upon Sunfyre. He takes in his golden scales and has newfound appreciation.

You take a step back.

"He is. To be honest, it's been long since I, myself, took him out of the pit. He must enjoy this day as much as you do."

"Aegon, you must understand that what I have to say has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me."

Aegon turns to you. He watches you tighten your arms around yourself. You must be cold. He rubs your shoulders.

You shake your head and turn him back to his dragon, "look at Sunfyre."

He knits his brows, "I'm looking."

"For so long," you release him, "I've wanted to fly free, to find my peace here in the cliffs. This was before I even met you." You point at the golden dragon, "I choose to love you too, but accidents happen, like if Sunfyre were to fly away, and you were to be left here alone."

Aegon stares at his ride for a moment as you lower your hand. He tries to makes sense of your words, but he cannot for the life of him understand.

He sighs, "what accident? Why do you keep-"

Aegon is flooded by confusion when he turns and finds you nowhere behind him. A split second later, he lets a horrified scream and the fear that claws into him makes his knees buckle. He crumbles to the ground and crawls to the edge of the cliff. He screams so loud that Sunfyre roars back and comes towards him.

Aegon watches as the red seafoam bubbles at the foot of the cliff. He watches as the crimson waves slowly slosh back into its original tint.

Rain begins to pour, and his tears taste no longer salty.

Was this the flying you ached for? Was this the relief you sought?

When he returns to King's Landing, dripping wet, he breaks down in front of his mother, weeping as he clutched his skirts.

Queen Alicent is obviously disturbed. She instructs her servants to get his son a change of clothes and some towels. She looks down at him, "what's happened? What's wrong, Aegon?"

"An accident-" he barely manages to say, "there's been an accident."

"An accident?!"

Aegon's mind goes blank. A bitter taste

You don't know what you have until it's gone.

#prince aegon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #prince aegon targaryen #aegon the second #aegon x reader #aegon the elder #house of the dragon

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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A Pearls Home

Fandom: House of the Dreagon

Pairing: Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen/Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warning/Tag(s): No Archive Warnings Apply, Formal Wear, Necklaces, Gift Giving

Summary: Forced to leave Driftmark with his family for a banquet at Kings Landing. Upon waiting for the feast to start, Lucerys tries to steal a few moments for himself, though he isn't left alone for long.

Event(s): @eclipsingbingo with 'formal wear'

Can be read here

Lucerys stood before a mirror, staring at his reflection as a boy wearing a similar face to his stared back. The boy across from him looked similar, but there was a vast number of differences that Lucerys could pick out.

For starters, the curls on his head seemed to be more tamed, decorated with a glinting gilded touch whereas normally they would be allowed to coil freely; his once rosy cheeks had paled upon arriving at the castle whose walls currently surrounded him; lastly, his clothes had been swapped. What would normally be the leathers of his riding gear or the soft fabrics of his clothes had been swapped for silks of deep blood red that spilled over his body.

The boy who was staring back at him was every part the Prince he was supposed to be while the bastard he knew and was so familiar with got hidden away for the night.

Lucerys wouldn’t go as far to say he was unrecognisable, having spent too much of his life fretting in front of a mirror over his brown hair not to become accustomed to his looks, but the person staring back at him was a surly different image to anything he had been comfortable with in the past.

It was only when Lucerys heard the soft tapping of knocks at his door did he got drawn from his thoughts. Turning his head slowly, Lucerys half expected a servant to be peeking their head in and calling upon him, instead, he was met with the closed door and the impatient taps that followed once he didn’t hurry over to open the door of his chambers.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Lucerys called out, putting an end to any further knocks that would disturb his peace. Turning his head to take one last look in the mirror and drink his reflection in, Lucerys sharply turned and made his way over to his chamber door, swinging it open with a question on the tip of his tongue, “How can I help… you. Qybor?”

"Taoba," Aemond greeted as he stood within the doorway of Lucerys temporary accommodation. Regarding his white-haired uncle with a raised chin, Lucerys steeled any nerves that flared up within him, a sight that didn't go unnoticed by Aemond as his pale eyes scanned over Lucerys features like a hawk. "I assume you've been taking your duties on Driftmark rather seriously taking your absence from the last family gathering."

"Yes, I-" Lucerys cut himself off as Aemond easily pushed himself into Lucerys room, making himself comfortable in the space. Swallowing the previous words he was about to utter, Lucerys took on a different approach as he continued, "I've been keeping myself busy. If I may ask, why is it that you've utilised your time to come and visit me?"

"I have come bearing gifts," Aemond started, a knowing smile on his face as he saw an excited glint spark to life in Lucerys eyes, his interest peaked as he made his way back over to his mirror, right next to where Aemond had stationed himself. "Your time away has been long and I believed your return deserved a welcoming gift."

"What did you get me?" Lucerys could hardly contain himself, craning his head back so he could meet his eye. Aemon took his time strolling over, a hand tucking into a hidden pocket of the elegant fabrics that lined his body. He didn't seem to move quick enough though as Lucerys spoke in another rush of tongues, "Come on Qybor, show me what it is."

With the grace that his mother had taught him, and with no increased haste, Aemond pulled a string of delicate pearls from his pocket and held it up so Lucerys could get a proper glance at it. With a hand reaching out to trail soft fingers across it, Lucerys stared at the necklace with his mouth slightly agape.

Each pearl had a unique shape, threaded closely together with a silver clasp to make up the jewellery. Balancing the deepsea pieces in the palm of his hand, the ends of it still clutched in Ameonds own, Lucerys did nothing but stare, all words leaving his throat.

Amused by the sight, to move the process along, Aemond placed a hand on the small of Lucerys back, gently pushing him towards his mirror while he was entranced by the piece. With his face flashing back at him, Lucerys eyes never left the necklace as Aemond pulled it from his grasp, unclasping it and pulling it up to his neck.

They were cold to the touch as they wrapped around Lucerys neck, Aemond pulling them taught as he linked the two ends together, letting it settle there in its new home. Again, a hand shot up to toy at the pearls, twirling them this way and that as Lucerys took them in from every angel.

Returning one hand to the small of Lucerys back, Aemond brought the other to the side of Lucerys head, pulling him closer for a smidgen of a second to place a kiss on the crown of his head, watching him shamelessly as Lucerys continued to admire his gift. "Welcome home, my zaldrīzes."

#house of the dragon #lucerys velaryon #aemond x lucerys #aemond targaryen #lucemond

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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Debt

• Aemond Targaryen x female!Lucerys Velaryon •

[The only certainty Aemond Targaryen had, after losing his eye and claiming Vhagar, was that the exchange wasn't fair. Perhaps it was even his mother's nerves calming down or him still being the center of attention after the ambush he was caught in. But years after his nephews left for Dragon Stone with his sister, Aemond was certain that his anger wouldn't fade or be extinguished. Not until he made her pay for the suffering she had caused him. And now, he counted the days until the moment arrived, when he would take from her what was most precious to her.]

[Disclaimer: Mature content, violence, slightly dark!Aemond]

• Hello! This is my first fanfic post on Tumblr and in English. I usually post stories on Wattpad in Portuguese — with the same name — and decided to expand to a new language. I hope you enjoy it. I plan to post more stories here. This fanfic is about an alternative version of Lucemond — with Lucerys being a woman; the characters have different ages from the original work — we don't want any crimes here — Lucille is eighteen years old and Aemond is twenty-two. •

It was an obsession. Aemond knew it, yet he couldn't stop the thoughts that grew with each passing day. The hatred. The resentment. His face was marked forever, destined to be covered by an eyepatch that would conceal his shame until his last days. He trained for years, became one of the finest swordsmen in Westeros, tamed the largest dragon in the world, and yet, he would never be a whole man without his eye.

He thought that when she left, his problems would leave with her. His resentments would vanish, and his pain would heal. But that wasn't what happened. His hatred and bitterness grew, and with them, the desire for revenge. Deep down, he couldn't accept how his father never defended him, how he, like most of his family, sided with those bastards.

Every time he saw himself in the mirror, and gazed into the sapphire stone in his eye, he remembered that night. He remembered the pain. He remembered her. The cursed bastard who caused this.

The object of his hatred. Lucille Velaryon.

Lucille could barely recall King's Landing. Perhaps because she had left at a very young age, or perhaps because the events leading up to her move to Dragonstone were… tumultuous. Yet here she was again, not for the desired reason, and certainly not with a warm reception. Her mother and Daemon seemed disappointed when no one greeted them, and they asked Jace to accompany his sister to the quarters where she would stay.

As they walked through the corridors, Lucille vaguely remembered the stairs, some statues, and with those details, memories of her childhood flooded back. She remembered the times when Jacaerys and Aegon included her in their games, especially when it came to playing pranks on Aemond.

Aemond. She swallowed hard. If there was one wish she could make at that moment, it would be to not cross paths with her uncle.

Surely he hadn't forgotten the events of seven years ago, and who was responsible for it. The responsible one.

"See," Jace exclaimed, pointing to a dragon statue. "It's still the same. You can see the crack from when we bumped into it and knocked it to the ground. Otto almost killed us that day, remember?"

"Yes," Lucille weakly smiled.

Jace's expression changed as he noticed his sister's demeanor. "Don't worry about today, Lucy. Everything will be sorted out. You are the true heir to Driftmark."

Lucy let out an ironic laugh, looking at her brother as they walked. "You don't even believe that yourself."

"Stop it," Jace complained.

"We are…" Lucy said to her brother exasperatedly, pausing for a moment to lower her voice. "bastards, Jace."

Jacaerys looked at her with a disappointed look and then shrugged, continuing to walk. Lucille quickened her pace to keep up with him.

"Bastards or not, Lord Corlys chose you to be the successor of Driftmark," Jace said confidently. "You should be grateful and embrace your destiny."

Lucy averted her gaze, saying nothing more. When they reached the end of the corridor, Jacaerys nodded for them to go to the door leading to the training ground. Her brother always enjoyed fights. Lucille tried for a few years, but gave up when she realized she had more skill with the bow and arrow than with the sword.

They approached the stairs leading outside and descended the steps. Jace seemed very excited to watch the fights up close. However, the elder brother headed toward the nearby gate and pointed to the huge hole in the wall. He turned to Lucille with a convincing expression, and she rolled her eyes.

"See, I told you it would still be here," Jace said proudly. "It was the day I thought I could wield Sir Criston's Morningstar."

"You almost lost your head that day," Lucy laughed.

Jacaerys nodded, joining her to look at the weapons laid out on a table. Lucille glanced sideways, noticing some Court members looking at them and whispering. She quickly looked ahead, feeling dejected.

"What's your problem?" Jace asked, holding a sword.

"They're staring at us," she said, moving closer to her brother. "They wouldn't question my right to Driftmark's inheritance if I looked more like Laenor… And less like Sir Harwin Strong."

"Let them talk," Jace said, looking his sister in the eyes. In the next moment, they heard the clash of something strong enough to echo across the training ground. Jacaerys called his sister to come closer, and they both went to the small crowd that had formed.

Lucille peeked behind her brother at the fight unfolding. The first thing that caught her attention was the tall platinum-haired youth wielding a sword and shield. It wasn't difficult to identify a Targaryen when you saw one. However, she didn't expect to be surprised to find out it wasn't Aegon, but Aemond.

Her uncle and her brother often teased him for being clumsy and relatively shorter than Aegon. She didn't imagine he had changed so much over the years. She felt discomfort as she observed the eyepatch on his face, covering enough so that his eye couldn't be seen, and leaving the scar, which extended from above his eyebrow to his cheek, exposed.

His movements seemed perfectly calculated as he dodged Sir Criston Cole's attacks. A gasp escaped Velaryon's lips when Criston hit Aemond's shield harder, forcing him to release the object. Now he only had his sword to defend himself. Criston advanced once more, and again, until Aemond finally found a chance to dodge and gain an advantage, aiming the sword directly at the man's throat.

Applause spread across the field as Sir Criston congratulated him. "This way, you'll be ready to win the tournament."

"I don't give a shit about tournaments," he said, lowering his sword. And then, as if he had known they were there all along, he turned to Lucy and Jace. "Nephews. Came to train?"

Before Jace could say anything, the gates were opened, and the commotion that had gathered to watch the fight now shifted their attention to the arrival of the carriage. However, Lucy couldn't avert her gaze so quickly, not when Aemond was staring at her with such intensity that she swore he would plunge that sword into her throat at any moment.

Neither of them blinked. Neither of them looked away.

Jacaerys pulled his sister's hand, finally snapping her out of her trance and making her follow him. Vaemond Velaryon had arrived.

In the next day, Rhaenyra and Daemon were already waiting for them in the Throne Room when they arrived. Jace had taken her to her room first, so she could settle in, and then they went to the place where the Council would take place. The entire Court was positioned along the hall, and it didn't take long for her to catch sight of three platinum-haired heads up ahead. If Aemond was the one with the eyepatch, then Aegon and Helaena were the others.

She gave a small smile to her aunt when their gazes met, and then her smile faded as she noticed the looks from Aegon and Aemond. She joined her brother and her parents, along with her cousins. Daemon laid his hand on her shoulder, a subtle form of support. Daemon Targaryen might not be her biological father, but he cared for her and Jace as if he were.

"Although it is the fervent hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his injuries, we gather here with the daunting task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." Otto said, seated on the throne. "As Hand, I speak with the voice of the King on this and all other matters. The Crown will now hear petitions."

A small buzz spread through the hall, and Lucy withdrew a bit, leaning on her mother.

"Sir Vaemond of House Velaryon."

The man walked to the center of the hall, standing facing the throne. He gave a disdainful look to Rhaenyra and her children before speaking. He then glanced at Alicent and Otto Hightower.

"My Queen. My Lord Hand." He cleared his throat. "The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. Since House Targaryen ruled the skies, House Velaryon ruled the seas. When Doom fell upon Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our ancestors came to this new land, knowing that if they failed, it would mean the end of their lineages and their names."

Lucille raised her gaze to the man, who still had his gaze forward.

"I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest relative, his own blood. The true and irreproachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

"As it does with my children, descendants of Laenor Velaryon." Rhaenyra interjected quickly, drawing the Court's attention. Lucille watched Sir Vaemond turn to them, with a look that could set fire if he could. "If you cared so much about your house's blood, Sir Vaemond, you wouldn't be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and your own ambition."

"You will have the chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Sir Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard." Alicent intervened.

"What do you know about Velaryon blood, princess?" Vaemond narrowed his eyes at Rhaenyra. "I could cut my veins and show you, and you still wouldn't recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours."

He looked at Lucille with irritation before turning back to the front.

"My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of my house's survival and my lineage above all else. I humbly stand before you as the successor to my brother... the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides."

"Thank you, Sir Vaemond." Otto said, then looked to Rhaenyra. "Princess Rhaenyra, now you may speak for your daughter, Lucille Velaryon."

Rhaenyra stroked her daughter's back, where her hand rested, one last time and then walked to where Sir Vaemond stood.

"If I wish to grace this farce with any response, I will begin by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, on this very same..."

Her speech was interrupted by the sound of the royal gates, making the entire Court, including Rhaenyra, turn to see who had arrived. Lucille gasped when she saw her grandfather balancing on a cane, with a mask on his face. She didn't remember him being so debilitated. She looked at Daemon, and he nodded at her. He knew something.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." One of the guards announced.

All eyes watched the king descend the stairs leading to the Royal Court and slowly walk toward the throne. He paused for a moment, looking at his daughter, and then continued walking. He said something to Otto that Lucy couldn't understand, and then began to ascend the stairs to his throne. As he started to climb the stairs with difficulty, his crown fell.

Everyone watched as Prince Daemon approached and picked up the object, helping his brother up the steps and then placing the crown back on his king's head. He then returned to his family.

"I must... admit... my confusion." Viserys breathed heavily. "I fail to understand why petitions are being heard on an established succession. The only one present... who can offer a sharper insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is Princess Rhaenys."

Rhaenys Targaryen smiled at her cousin, taking a step forward. "Indeed, Your Grace."

Rhaenys walked to the center of the hall.

"It has always been my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Sir Laenor to his true daughter... Lucille Velaryon. His mind never wavered. Nor did my support for him." She said, then looked at Rhaenyra before continuing. "In fact, Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her son Jace to Lord Corlys's granddaughter, Baela. A proposal with which I wholeheartedly agree."

Viserys nodded.

"Well... the matter is settled. Again. Through this meeting, I reaffirm Princess Lucille of House Velaryon as the heir to Driftmark, the Throne of Driftwood, and the next Lady of the Tides."

"You break the law... and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet, you dare to tell me... who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name." He spits, anger in his voice. "No. I will not allow it."

"Allow?" The king repeats. "Do not forget yourself, Vaemond."

"She is not a true Velaryon, and certainly not a niece of mine." He shouts, pointing at Lucille, who shrinks. "Not to mention the absurdity of naming a woman as the new Lord of Driftmark."

"Lucille is my legitimate granddaughter." Viserys syllables. "And you... are but the second son of Driftmark."

"You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine." He says angrily. "My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations. And damn the gods... I will not see the end of it because of this..."

He then gave Lucille a sarcastic look. The Velaryon averted her gaze, staring at the floor. She then heard Daemon whisper behind her: "Say it."

"Your sons... are bastards! And she... is... a whore." He snarls.

Lucille feels her heart pounding as she gasps along with the crowd. Shame takes over her gaze, especially when she meets the green eyes. Aegon holds back a laugh, while Aemond watches them with a restrained smile. Mockery. Ridicule.

She feels a hand touch her shoulder as Daemon passes behind her, disappearing into the crowd.

Viserys rises with difficulty and pulls a dagger from his waist. "I... will tear out your tongue for this."

Vaemond didn't have time to respond or defend himself. In a second, his body was on the floor, part of his head separated, rolling across the marble. Lucille stifles a scream, hiding her face on her brother's shoulder. Jace doesn't move. Everyone emits a scream in the hall, and the guards draw their swords.

"Disarm him!" Otto Hightower shouts.

"There's no need." Daemon defends, sheathing his sword and stepping aside.

The king gasps, falling onto his throne.

"Call the maesters!" Alicent orders, running to her husband.

A body on the floor. A king on the brink of death. The circus for those who wished for the kingdom's fall was set. The princess lifts her gaze once again to where the green were. Helaena still covers her ears with her hands, and Aegon watches the scene. But Aemond is no longer there.

"Let's go, Lucy." Jace says in her ear, holding her shoulders and guiding her out of the hall along with the others.

Lucille didn't want to face her family. Not after the words spoken against her and her brother by Vaemond Velaryon. She knew what the courtiers whispered about her. She had known since she was seven. Since the night Aemond conquered Vhagar and hurled insults at her and her brother. They'll die in the fire like their father, he said. What Aemond perhaps didn't remember was that, like him, Lucille and Jacaerys were of the fire. The blood of Velaryon might not flow through their veins, but Targaryen blood certainly did.

She reminded him of that on the same night when she took one of his eyes.

However, they were no longer children. Accusations about her legitimacy now weighed much more, especially as a woman. Her existence was doubly an affront to the Crown. She knew that. Only the blind were incapable of seeing it.

She was finishing getting ready when Jace knocked on her door, announcing that they should go to the private dining room.

"Help me with this necklace," she asked when he entered the room. "Our father gave it to me. It was Aunt Laena's."

A delicate necklace with a seahorse pendant. Her father had given her the necklace on the day her sister had passed away. According to him, a part of Laena Velaryon would exist in her as long as she wore it.

"Don't mind the words spoken by Vaemond today," Jace said, trying to calm his sister. "No one took him very seriously."

Lucille sighed. "You know that's not true."

"Lucy..."

"They are not blind, Jace," she said, turning to her brother. "For Vaemond to have the courage to question the succession of Driftmark, he would have to have more support than just his pride. It's only a matter of time before there is retaliation for his death."

"Daemon would never allow it."

"I don't wish to rule over a sea of blood," she said, sighing. "I just wish I had been born legitimate... And a man. If our father had named Joffrey as his successor, perhaps there wouldn't be so many questions."

"Our mother will be the next to sit on the Iron Throne," Jace reminded her. "Being a woman or a man is no longer a question. Our father chose you as his successor, and Lord Corlys agreed with his choice. There's nothing more to question."

Jacaerys smiled and held her hand. "I will always be by your side, little sister."

Lucille smiled back at him and nodded. The siblings walked out of the room, heading to where the family dinner would be served.

When they arrived in the private dining room, they found everyone except the king. Aegon and Aemond were talking in one corner, while Alicent, Otto, Helaena, Rhaena, and Baela were seated at the table, and Rhaenyra and Daemon were conversing in another corner of the room. Servants came, placing dishes on the table. When their presence was noticed, Rhaena and Baela stood up, joining their cousins.

"How are you?" Rhaena asked, holding Lucille's hand.

"I'm fine," she said softly. "Did anyone try to kill each other?"

"Our father seems to be keeping himself in check since earlier," Baela said, opening a small smile. "Our uncle didn't act right by uttering those words to you and Jace. My father would never allow the honor of our family to be slandered like that."

"They will comment on the incident for some time, but they will soon forget," Rhaena said. "It's important to show some strength from time to time."

Lucille nodded, though she didn't agree with violence. Over Rhaena's shoulder, she could perceive the Targaryen brothers' gazes on them. She didn't look directly at them, but she felt they were watching her.

"The king is coming," a guard announced.

Everyone headed to the table, taking their seats. On one side, Otto and Alicent sat next to Rhaenyra and Daemon, separated by the space where the king's chair would be. Facing them were Helaena, Aegon, Jacaerys, and Baela. At one end, Rhaena and Lucille, and at the other, Aemond.

A terrible place, she thought when her uncle sat facing her. She couldn't help but meet his gaze as he sat down. The only eye he had left burning steadily on her figure.

She averted, looking to her mother. In the next moment, the presence of Viserys was announced, and he entered, seated in his chair, carried by four guards. The banquet began, and the king gave a speech. Lucille watched him with pity. Pity because even on the brink, Viserys still believed that his family could be saved.

"How good it is... to see all of you tonight... together," the king said with difficulty.

"A prayer before we begin?" Alicent suggested, and the king agreed. "May the Mother smile upon this gathering with love. May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for too long...

As Alicent recited her prayer with closed eyes, the table accompanied her. Aegon drank some of his wine, oblivious to the customs. Lucille kept her hands together on the table, but her eyes roamed over everyone there, until they settled on Aemond, who kept his eye closed, in a quiet posture. A strange sensation ran through her body. Lucille couldn't explain if it was fear or admiration.

"And for Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods grant him rest," Alicent said finally, and Lucille could hear a small sigh of laughter from her stepfather.

"This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandson, Jace, will marry his cousin, Baela, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young prince... and his bride," Viserys raised his glass, followed by the others.

"Hear, hear," Daemon cheered. "This isn't the only marriage we'll have ahead of us."

Curious glances turned to the Targaryen prince. He moved his gaze to Rhaenyra and then to Lucille.

"Lucille has received a marriage proposal from the North. Lord Cregan Stark proposed her hand in marriage, to unite both houses in a lasting union," Rhaenyra commented. "We chose to accept the proposal. Lucille agreed."

"Now, the North," Viserys said with a smile on his face. "I heard they have huge wolves as their companions. And that the cold is so intense they wear fur coats all the time."

Lucille nodded with a smile. "They also have great warriors. Lord Cregan Stark is a formidable warrior, I've heard."

"It must reek of dog," Aegon murmured against his cup, low enough for only his siblings to hear.

"A toast to my granddaughter, Lucille, may her rule in Driftmark be prosperous, and her marriage to Lord Cregan Stark be beneficial to both houses," Viserys raised his cup again.

Everyone toasted, except for Aegon... And Aemond. Her eyes meet his again, and she can feel the tension in her body. He holds his cup on the table, his jaw tensed. She doesn't know what he's thinking or feeling, but she knows it's not something good.

When he looks away, she does the same.

"You'll do just fine," Rhaena celebrates quietly beside her, and Lucille forces a smile.

"It warms my heart and saddens me at the same time to see these faces around the table. The most beloved faces to me in the whole world... but so distant from each other... in recent years," Viserys begins to say, rising from his seat. He takes off his mask, revealing a face taken over by his illness. An eye missing. Lucille holds her breath for a moment. "My own face... is no longer beautiful... if it ever was. But tonight... I wish for you to see me... as I am. Not just a king... but your father. Your brother. Your husband... and your grandfather. One who may not be able to... walk among you much longer."

He pauses, and Lucille meets her brother's gaze and then the table. Viserys continues:

"Let's not hold any more ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot remain strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown... then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly."

The king says and then sits back down, putting on his mask again. After a minute of silence, Lucille watches her mother rise with her cup.

"I wish to raise my glass to Your Grace, the Queen," she says, looking at Alicent. "I love my father. But I must admit that no one has been... more faithfully by his side than his good wife."

Alicent looks at her attentively, trying to understand her words.

"She cared for him with... unwavering devotion, love, and honor. And for that, she has my gratitude... and my apologies," she says finally, sitting back down.

"Your graciousness moves me deeply, princess," Alicent says. "We are both mothers... and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my glass to you... and to your house. You will be a beautiful queen."

A moment of affection takes over the table, and the two seem to understand each other after a long time. The momentary softness is abruptly interrupted minutes later when Jacaerys stands up abruptly, banging his fist on the table.

"Jace," Lucille says, surprised.

She watches Aemond suddenly stand up, while Aegon returns to his seat. Tension crosses the two princes. Jace then turns to his sister and gives her a sympathetic smile before raising his cup.

"To Prince Aegon and... Prince Aemond," Jace nods towards Aemond. "We haven't seen each other in years, but I have good memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we can still be friends and allies. To your health and that of your family, dear uncles."

He gives Aegon a little punch on the shoulder, who looks bored on his chair. "To you as well."

"Beware the beast beneath the boards," Helaena murmurs.

"Very well done, my boy," Viserys tells his grandson.

Suddenly, Helaena stands up.

"I'd like to toast to Baela and Lucy. They will be getting married soon," she says. "It's not that bad. Most of the time, he just ignores you... except sometimes when he's drunk."

Daemon lets out a muffled laugh. Lucille directs a strained smile at her aunt. Poor Helaena.

"Let's hear some music," Viserys announces.

The musicians start playing, making the atmosphere more relaxed. Jace whispers something in Baela's ear and then gets up, walking over to Helaena's chair and extending his hand to her. The princess accepts without hesitation, being led to the center of the dining room. The two dance joyfully.

Although happy for Jace's marriage to Baela, Lucille can't help but think how nice it would be if her brother had married Helaena. Her aunt would be much happier. She watches them dance for a while and doesn't notice her uncle's presence by her side.

"Care to dance?" Aegon asks in her ear, extending his hand.

She accepts out of politeness, being led to where Jacaerys and Helaena were. Lucille notices her brother's hateful look in their direction. Aegon seems to be having fun.

"You've grown, niece," he taunts in her ear, holding her waist.

"We all have, uncle," Lucille replies.

"No. I mean, in another way," he smiles. "In the way only a woman can."

She shifts uncomfortably in his grasp as he guides her during the dance.

"Lord Stark, huh?" he says. "I heard the northerners are wild. Especially in bed."

"I don't pay attention to rumors."

"You should," he smiles, leaning closer to her ear. "I can teach you a few things before you get married."

A loud noise echoes through the room, cutting off the music. Lucille turns to the table, watching Aemond leaning menacingly over it. When the gazes turn to him, he stands up, holding his cup. His gaze is fixed on the dancing couples. She also notices that her grandfather was no longer there.

"Final tribute," he says. "To the health of my nephews: Jace... Lucille... and Joffrey. Each of them beautiful, wise... hm... strong."

"Aemond," Alicent scolds him.

"Come... let's raise our cups to these three..." He pauses, smiling ironically at Lucille. "Strong boys."

"I dare you to say that again," Jace threatens, breaking free from Helaena.

"Why? It was just a compliment," Aemond smiles scornfully. "Don't you consider yourself strong?"

Before Lucille could react to stop her brother, Jacaerys lunged at Aemond, hitting him with a punch.

"Jace!" Lucille and Rhaenyra shouted at the same time.

Just as Lucille was about to run to her brother, Aegon grabbed her wrist, but she quickly pulled away, stepping on his foot. The prince grunted in pain. Chaos ensued.

"Why would you say such a thing in front of these people?" Alicent scolded her son, approaching him.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother," Aemond said in a sarcastic tone, then turned to Jace and Lucille. "Hmm, although it seems my nephews aren't as proud of theirs."

Lucille struggled to keep Jace in the same place.

"Tell me, dear niece, is being strong such a vile adjective?" Aemond mocked.

"Don't speak to my sister!" Jace yelled.

"Why?" Aemond growled, turning to Jace. "Your sister has an outstanding debt."

"I have no debt," Lucille replied.

"Shall I refresh your memory?"

Jace lunged again and Daemon was the one who stood in front of him this time. With just a gesture, the Dragon Prince pushed his stepson aside, calling for silence. Rhaenyra hurried to send them to their chambers.

The last thing Lucille saw before leaving the dining room with her brother and cousins was Aemond's burning gaze upon them.

It would be a long stay, she thought.

Lucille couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed, consumed by anxiety. Flashes of the previous day played in her mind. Vaemond Velaryon's retaliation, her grandfather's speech, Aegon's jests, and Aemond's words. Not just his words, but also his looks. She hadn't expected her uncle to have gotten over losing an eye so easily, but she hadn't imagined he would resent her so much either.

They were children, after all, and Lucille was protecting her brother. He himself had said that night: it was a fair trade. An eye for a dragon.

But years later, she realized that nothing had changed.

Sometimes she remembered the past. How the four—Jace, Aegon, Aemond, and she—were close before juvenile squabbles began. Before doubts about her legitimacy arose. But that time was gone.

She sighed, turning over one last time before getting up. She wouldn't be able to sleep. She walked around the room, looking for something to distract herself. There was nothing. Maybe she could find a book in the library, one that would occupy her until sleep came.

She grabbed a coat, covering her body that had only a nightgown, and opened her room door slowly. The corridor was dark, lit by a few candle points. She slinked along the walls, heading to the library and quickly leaving it. She carried two books in one arm.

As she held the doorknob of her room, she felt a sudden approach and a cold object against her throat, making her freeze.

"Jace—" She choked, thinking of calling her brother's name, who was in the room next door.

"Your brother isn't here now." Aemond. "I am. Come in."

She swallowed hard. Her uncle wouldn't kill her, would he? Her mother would burn him and the whole castle if he did.

She obeyed, entering the room without turning once. She heard him close and lock the door. She suppressed a cry in her throat. When she gathered courage and turned around, Aemond was still with his back turned, covered by a dark blue cape.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, gathering the courage that remained.

"Lord Cregan Stark, hm?" He asked irritably, turning.

Lucille gasped at the sight before her. Aemond was without his eye patch. The sapphire blue shone intensely against the strands of moonlight streaming through his window, glinting. His face looked much more threatening, partially obscured by the hood, and his gaze never seemed so intense as it did now. She observed the scar that crossed his eye. A scar she caused.

"You won't marry him," he said.

"How?" She asked, confused.

"I'm not a man to say the same thing twice." He said, advancing a step. She backed away. He smiled, seeing how it affected her. "Do you fear me, niece?"

"N-No."

Lie.

"Why are you here?" She asked, glancing quickly at the dagger he carried.

"I came to settle accounts." He replied. "You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything." She said in a moment of courage.

A mistake.

In the next moment, her body was pressed against the wall of her room, Aemond's grip on her throat, his face close to hers. "Don't you?"

Lucille was paralyzed.

"Look at my face," he said impatiently.

The princess gasped heavily. Her eyes wandered from the lilac iris to the sapphire stone he sported. His breath was against her face, his breathing heavy with anger. She never imagined him so close in this way. He was taller than her, which made her keep her neck raised under his hand. He applied a slight pressure against her flesh, making her feel a strange sensation of warmth. God, what was happening? If anyone saw them like this...

"What do you see?" He asked, impatiently.

"Aemond..." She gasped when he slid his thumb along her neck, testing the territory. Blue eyes against lilac.

When did he become so attractive?

She wanted to push the thought out of her head, but it was difficult when, for the first time, she was so close to a man who wasn't her brother. So close to a man who was once her old friend and who had grown so fast. A man who had been haunting her thoughts since the moment she took his eye. A man who looked at her like no one ever had and who pursued her relentlessly. She considered herself crazy for a moment.

"You've been mine since you took my eye," he whispered threateningly against her lips. "Not some Northern Lord's."

Lucille gasped as she felt him getting closer, accommodating his knee between her legs. She sucked in air, feeling like she would faint right there. "A-Aemond, I'm engaged..."

"Then say it, say you belong to Lord Cregan Stark..." He whispered in her ear, moving her leg. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Aemond's other hand held her waist possessively, pulling her slightly to him, forcing her body to have friction against his leg. His lips found her neck. God, she thought, he was making everything difficult. "Say you want Lord Stark."

"Aemond..." She whispered in a pleading tone. She wanted him to stop, but at the same time, she didn't want him to.

He descended his kisses to the valley of her breasts, only covered by the thin nightgown. He pulled her coat down with some impatience. She shivered with the sudden cold. His hands returned to her waist, pulling her in a jerk. She wore nothing to cover her intimacy, which made contact with his leg hallucinating. She had never felt anything like it.

"Say it." He teased, kissing her over her nightgown.

She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath, leaning her back against the wall. Nothing would have prepared her for what was to come.

Aemond knelt down and lifted her nightgown, raising one of her legs over his shoulder. She gasped as she felt his lips kissing there.

"Aemond!" She squeaked.

He squeezed her raised thigh and her hip in a silent way to ask her to be quiet. She obeyed, not wanting to be caught like this. How would she explain the fact that Aemond Targaryen was in her room so late at night? Her thoughts were silenced by his lips on her intimacy, moving against her folds, finding a sensitive spot.

Lucille jolted, making him release a puff of air against her, probably laughing at her innocence. In the next moment, she felt his tongue working. He explored every corner of her, every fold, every taste. The princess couldn't help but seek support on the Targaryen's head, covered by her silk nightgown. She moaned softly, feeling the sensations he caused her.

At one point, he hit what seemed to be her sensitive spot. She moaned a bit louder, making him tighten his grip on her hands and move faster. She gasped. "A-Aemond, I..."

She murmured desperate, disconnected words, feeling pleasure increasing more and more. He wouldn't stop. She didn't want him to stop. But she didn't know where it would lead. She closed her eyes tightly, gripping the silver strands beneath her fingers, and when the climax hit her, violently, she slumped forward, being held by him.

He stood up, licking his lips. His face was intoxicated, lips wet. She had done this. She gasped, still limp, being held by him against the wall.

"Do you know what Lord Stark would do now?" He whispered in her ear. "He would throw you on that bed… Rip off your clothes… And fuck you like a whore."

"Aemond…" She gasped.

He moved his left hand to the middle of her legs, sneaking two fingers into her intimate part and thrusting them inside her. The princess clutched his garment covering his arm, closing her eyes and breathing heavily. "Say it. Say you desire Cregan Stark."

His fingers bent, forming a hook, and began to move inside her, in a back and forth motion in the spongy area. He increased his speed. With his other hand, he grabbed her nape, pulling the princess into a kiss.

She moaned under his touch, and just when she thought that sensation would come again, he stopped. The feeling as intensely as it began, ceased.

"Aemond." Lucille grumbled.

She leaned her face closer to his, and he recoiled. He was having fun, she realized. He was enjoying playing with the sensations he caused her, with the temptation he caused her, and with the limit she could reach.

She knew she had reached a point of no return.

"Say you're mine." He ordered. "Not Cregan Stark's. Not any other man's. Say you're mine, and I'll make you my wife."

She parted her lips, reality hitting her chest once again. Her family would never allow this. Rhaenyra and Daemon were content with her engagement to Lord Stark, and she doubted Alicent Hightower would agree to a possible union between her son and Rhaenyra's daughter.

"No man will be able to satisfy you the way I will," he said, sliding his hand to the side of her chest, sneaking his thumb under her breast. "We are dragons. We are meant to burn."

Burn. Well, that's what she felt. As Aemond touched her body in a way she never imagined, she felt her body catch fire. A heat she never imagined feeling radiated from within her, and she didn't know if she could control it for much longer.

"I thought I was just a bastard to you," she whispered, testing the boundaries of provocation.

"You are," he replied, tucking a strand of hair from her face. "But you're mine."

"I was never yours, Aemond."

His thumb slid to the nipple covered by the nightgown, and she gasped softly. "You've been mine since the moment you took out my eye." He moved his other hand to her neck, lifting her chin with his thumb. "Since the moment you occupied my thoughts every day after your departure and since the moment you set foot in King's Landing. After that night, I realized that Vhagar wasn't the only thing I wanted to claim."

"What was it?" She asked, looking directly into his eye. She already knew the answer.

"You."

Lucille breathed slowly, her chest rising and falling. Aemond drew closer, pressing his body against hers until his chin rested on the top of her head. His fingers caressed her back, trailing down to her covered buttocks, and he placed his hands there, pressing her body against his. Lucille gasped when she felt something rigid between his legs. He moved one of his hands to her thigh, lifting her leg to encircle his hip, and then brushed his body against hers, slowly.

"Aemond…" She breathed softly against his neck, feeling the sensations it caused her.

"Do you feel that? It's what you do to me, Lucy," he murmured, nibbling at the top of her ear. "My Lucy…"

He increased the movements, making her moan a little louder, feeling the pressure of his pants against her sensitive spot. She rested her arms on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his body as he incessantly called her name.

"Gods be good…" She pleaded. "Please, Aemond…"

She denied with her head, her eyes closed.

"Say."

He grabbed her face, caressing her cheek, moving his thumb to her lips.

"Say it."

"Yours…" She whispered, opening her eyes. "Make me yours, Aemond."

The prince didn't need to hear it twice. He grabbed the princess by her thighs and lifted her, carrying her to the bed. When he threw her onto the sheets, he got between her legs and pulled out the dagger that was in his belt. Lucille gasped, not having time to understand what was happening. He used the steel to tear the nightgown in half, revealing her body to him.

She shivered as the night breeze caressed her naked body, being watched by Aemond's gaze. The one-eyed prince slid his hand over her belly, moving up to reach the middle of her breasts. He teased her, taking his time to finally touch where she desired. Then he squeezed one of her breasts and brought his mouth to the other, giving it the attention it deserved.

"Mm… Ah!" She moaned, feeling his tongue tease her hardened nipple. She could feel something hard between Aemond's legs as he leaned over her. "Aemond… It's not fair. I'm the only one naked."

"In a hurry, are we?" He teased, trailing his kisses down to her belly as he slid off the bed.

She watched as he stood up, removing the cloak covering his body, revealing the white linen shirt and leather pants. He undid the knots of his shirt and tore it off his body, throwing it to the floor. Then he removed his boots with some impatience, giving attention to his belt next. Lucille nibbled her lip, knowing what would come next.

She observed his chest, not so strong, but defined. The result of years of training. She saw him unfasten his belt and open his pants, pulling them down to finally be free. Lucille's breath caught in her throat as she glanced down at the prince's legs, widening her eyes in the process. She didn't know how other men were, but definitely, Aemond should be considered… Well-endowed.

"Like what you see?" He taunted, returning to the bed.

She averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn. No, she thought, it's not the behavior of a dragon. She turned her eyes back to him, meeting the lilac gaze burning with desire, while his jewel seemed to glimmer more than ever.

"Yes." She swallowed her words. "And you, do you like what you see, uncle?"

His response came when Aemond grabbed her hip, pulling her towards him. He lifted her legs, kissing her ankle. "I should warn you of the reason I made you so… satisfied, earlier." He teased, stroking her legs, descending to her thighs. "I don't intend to be gentle."

Lucille gasped, staring at him.

"I've imagined this moment for many years…" He teased. "At times, I imagined my hand around your neck, squeezing the air out of your lungs just to see you beg."

She said nothing.

"Other times, I pictured you kneeling, begging for my forgiveness…"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, uncle…"

Aemond chuckled. He then spread his legs, pulling Lucille closer, brushing against their intimacies. The princess gasped, clutching the sheets beside her, propping herself up on her forearms. "Don't feel sorry, niece. I'm not done yet."

He held the base of his member, rubbing it against her intimacy. Lucille gasped, feeling the heat of the contact. Gods. There was no turning back, she realized. "Aemond…"

"This will hurt… A little." He mocked, kneeling. One of his hands held the back of her knee, spreading her further. "But don't worry, sweet Lucy… It doesn't compare to the pain of losing an eye."

Lucille gasped, and the next moment, she felt the pressure of Aemond's member pushing into her entrance. She stifled a scream, feeling a burning sensation. "Calm down, it'll pass soon." He whispered. His other hand reached her clit, making continuous movements. "You'll feel very good."

"Aemond… It hurts…" She gasped. Suddenly, this didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

He then stopped, only stimulating her. He kissed her breasts, indulging in them once again. Lucille breathed heavily, feeling good again. "My sweet, sweet Lucy…"

He stimulated her until she felt again the wave of pleasure that had hit her before, and then advanced, taking her completely. Lucille Velaryon was his. Only his.

"Do you want to know what I also imagined? What I dreamed?" He asked in her ear, grabbing her hips and moving slowly, feeling her tighten around him.

"What?" She said.

"You moaning my name…" He whispered. "Scratching my back… Saying you were mine… While I fucked you mercilessly."

She gasped, feeling him move faster.

"I imagined this so many times… I fucked you in my bed… On the dining table… On that damn Iron Throne… And even on my dragon's back." One of Aemond's hands slid up to her breast, pinching her nipple. "I made you scream with pleasure so that all of Westeros could know that you were mine."

"Aemond…" She gasped, pulling the prince's neck into a kiss. He reciprocated, groaning in the process and kissing her aggressively. Their tongues danced in their mouths, and nothing seemed to matter more than that moment of pleasure.

Aemond's movements became intense, aggressive. The princess gasped between kisses, struggling not to moan so loudly that her brother would wake up or someone would knock on her door. He held her hips tightly as he took her, and Lucille was sure she would wake up with bruises, but that didn't matter now.

Nothing mattered now.

Their lips parted, and he rested his forehead against hers, maintaining eye contact. Their mouths remained slightly open, breathing heavily, uttering obscenities. "Mine, mine…" Aemond growled. He took one of his hands to her neck, applying some pressure while still thrusting into her. "There's no turning back, Lucille."

"I-I know…" She whimpered, feeling pleasure rise through her belly. God, she accepted everything.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He snarled, burying his face in her neck. His grip intensified, and he continued until he heard her scream his name, trembling her body and her legs around him. He didn't think twice before holding her waist firmly and releasing inside her. He felt Lucille's insides contract in spasms, pulling him. "You take me so well."

"Aemond…" She murmured, closing her eyes from exhaustion, oblivious to anything else.

Aemond smiled, proud. He watched her sweaty body, illuminated by the moonlight, with her chest rising and falling from the recent effort. He observed the dark curls scattered over the sheet, the red cheeks, and the lashes sprinkled with tears of pleasure. A true mess. A mess he caused. And Aemond Targaryen loved chaos.

A sadistic satisfaction crossed his mind when he imagined his relatives' expressions when they found out what had happened. When they had to accept the fact that Lucille Velaryon was his. When they had to see her become his lady and the mother of his child.

His. His. His.

"Aemond…" She whispered, calling him.

"I'm here." He murmured, lying beside her. His finger caressed her lips. "I'll always be."

An eye for a dragon. A virtue for another. Lucille Velaryon was his, forever.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond x lucerys #fem!lucerys #female lucerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #lucemond

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

Text

Just an edit I made a few minutes ago to join the Girl with One Eye trend in Tiktok that I'm very proud of:

The vibes summarise Rhaenyra's feelings all too well, unfortunately. 😞

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #lucerys velaryon #aemond x lucerys #lucmond #video post

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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CLAIM - by Aemond Targaryen

+18 (seriously, no minors)

author's note: my first time writing for him, even though I've been in the fandom for a while now. (I hope this isn't the only one).

There you go, Aemond thinks with some bitterness.

Bright, innocent, pure. Tempting in annoying ways. Certainly a cute little thing to look at, though.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one who noticed this.

A warm, tingly ball curls in his stomach the more he watches you and your pathetic excuse for a partner during the waltz. Every delicate twirl you make around the grand ballroom sends shivers down his spine. The flushed dust high on your cheeks leaves his throat dry. The gentle smile you offer the Lord who smugly leads you through the dance makes his fist clench so tightly around the wine glass that Aemond is actually surprised he hasn't shattered the thing into a thousand pieces yet.

Aemond is not jealous, however. Aemond doesn't get jealous - being jealous is wanting something someone else has, and he has everything he needs, a lot of enviable things, to be honest. (That's what he tells himself, sipping some wine and sending icy daggers toward the man who insists on holding your waist tighter and tighter).

He's not jealous. He just doesn't like it when others covet what's his - or what should be his.

You, another Lady with a prestigious name. Theoretically there were many like you, it's true. But to Aemond, you always stood out. Unique, special. It is a great inconvenience that others also think this way.

Aemond was trying to be a gentleman here. He was purposely going slow so as not to scare you; innocent walks in the garden, subtle conversations about a book you both recently read, an unassuming invitation for afternoon tea (although he doesn't even like tea).

He was already exhausting the limits of his own patience and he still didn't get any real sign that you reciprocated his interest in you. You are kind and lovely, of course. But that's how you are with everyone around you. This, in itself, is no guarantee of absolutely anything for him.

Aemond was trying to be patient. Gods, he really was. But with each passing day he found himself more and more tormented by thoughts and fantasies about you. His mind is playing tricks on him, pushing the limits of his self-control to the point where he feels like he might snap like a stretched rubber band.

And it is on these nights, when everyone in the Red Keep is already asleep and he is absolutely certain that he is finally alone with his own demons - that he gives in.

He closes the only eye he has left to keep from seeing the shamefully needy descent of his hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants, only for it to become a fleeting, innocuous thought a few seconds later, because there it is again; that all-encompassing, overwhelming feeling that makes him see stars every time.

He palms his straining erection wet with precum, imagining it's your tiny hand there - or your pretty mouth, your tight pussy. The mere thought of it sends a bolt of pleasure down his spine and makes him part his lips in a husky sigh.

He thinks of you, over and over again; in hurried and repetitive steps, like someone lost in a maze.

Your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyelashes fluttering with pleasure, your sweet voice begging for him...

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-

Aemond writhes on the sheets, panting, shaking with it, his toes curled against the bed; his hips twitching with each wave of pleasure along his shaft trapped between his fingers. In the waves of euphoria, he throws his other arm over his eye, hides his sapphire and his personal decay like a secret, panting, getting close, so close, fuck, fuck...

It's sweet torture, after all. Spills out onto his own stomach and sheets instead of where he really wants to be.

But he can handle it. All to be a gentleman for you. All to endure the long, agonizing (and embarrassing) wait while you happily accept his invitations to teas and walks in the gardens and entertain him with your witty anecdotes about the latest book you read -

Although you never give him a concrete answer about your feelings for him.

He's trying to hold on.

But you need to pressure him, don't you?

He grits his teeth and narrows his gaze when the man waltzing with you leans down to say something close to your ear.

This isn't new to him, of course.

Aemond is used to having to fight to get what he wants. Nothing really comes easy for him. But there is something about the arduous trajectory of his personal achievements that no one is able to deny.

Once claimed, it's his forever.

That's it, enough of trying to be a gentleman - Aemond hums as he uses the rim of his wine glass to hide the wicked smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, baby."

He is against you.

Pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass so you can feel how hard his cock is in his pants.

He's laughing in your ear.

Mocking.

"You like that, don't you, girl?" he asks, in a dark whisper after cornering you in one of the castle's corridors, blocking your walk to your chambers. He deposits words laced with malice and honey into his husky voice, whispered against the shell of your ear.

You shudder against him.

He's rubbing himself against you. His cock rubbing explicitly against the curve of your ass, while his fingers squeeze your throat, pulling the back of your head to his shoulder.

"You're mine," he says, his voice full of possessiveness. Like he was on the verge of losing it. He already lost.

You cry out softly, feeling him squeeze your throat again. Harder this time.

"Nobody touches you from now on. Got it?"

He's nuzzling into your hair. Lost in the tickle of your strands on his face, in your sweet smell in his nose.

You shake your head somehow even with his firm grip on your throat and he laughs against your hair.

A low, harsh laugh, a wicked sound that rumbles straight from his throat as he leans down to leave a single kiss on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours to give a light tug.

"Good girl."

You open your mouth to say something, anything - an apology, a well-rehearsed argument, words too soft and genuine to compete with the sound of Aemond's hips slamming violently between your thighs - but all all you can do is a low, breathless meow.

"You smell like him," Aemond huffs coldly, though it's more of a breathy grunt.

Maybe there is a certain amount of exaggeration in his words, you don't smell like him. Not really. But the simple memory of that man's hands on your waist and his face close to yours to whisper anything was awakening a dangerous euphoria in Aemond's veins.

He tries hard to at least pretend to be easy, to at least pretend to have some control over the situation. Struggling silently to remain composed, as if he wasn't finally fucking the woman he's wanted for a long time at a brutal pace, as if your scent and your tears weren't permanently staining his sheets right now, as if he wasn't squeaking his teeth to keep from spilling too soon at the mere thought of having permanent physical proof that you were here - right in the bed where he sleeps every night. Aemond feigns an indifference and coldness that are not real.

But he's trying.

He is under the intense watch of your drunken, half-closed gaze, and tries hard not to embarrass himself any more than he already has. He struggles to breathe through his nose, trying not to blink too often; carefree, not a hair out of place. And, in the midst of his personal battle for dignity, he finds some amusement in how you seem to be going insane beneath him; as if you seams were being torn apart with each breath hissed through your teeth.

"I-it was just a dance..."

“He was desperate,” Aemond cuts you off, squeezing you so that your words turn into nothing more than a pathetic groan at the end of the sentence. His fingers dig into your throat, anchoring him as his hips work furiously against yours. His hair is falling to your shoulders and breasts, raising goose bumps on your skin with each thrust of his body against yours. “And that smell is really offending me, girl.”

“I-I, I’m so sorry-” you stutter, hands gripping his wrist as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into the crook of your neck, exactly where everyone can see it tomorrow, “I told him I already had someone and -"

He barely hears your confession before he interrupts. Thick words spilling from his lips as the grip on your body doubles in intensity.

"He thought with that sticky smile that he could just have you? That he would be the one to take your purity? This is for me, he should know. You belong to me. Only for me - only for me." He shakes and sputters to the wild pleasure coursing through his veins, some of his self control slipping as he bows his head and bumps his forehead against your sweaty shoulder, panting heavily into your skin at the feeling of your tight walls gripping his cock like a lathe.

"Yeah - only for you", he distantly hears you moan above the roar in his ears, feels your little fingers tangle between the silver strands of his hair until you manage to give a sharp tug, right at the base of the back of his neck. He groans into your skin at the sensation.

The liquid heat building inside him is almost overflowing, so close that he can't stop his trembling hips from meeting yours with shallower thrusts. He's almost rubbing himself against you, over and over, frantically. “Aemond, p-please,” you murmur, cherry-colored tongue wetting your plump bottom lip. "I can't anymore, I can't - ngh, please-"

Aemond swallows the rest of your words with a punishing kiss, answering your broken plea by quickly grinding his hips, encouraging your orgasm to wash over you. He doesn't stop, not even when you go rigid, unable to kiss him back or do anything other than moan and cry into his mouth.

Aemond traces your lips with his tongue, nibbling them until they're soft, his own breathing becoming as frantic as the cock that's dragging without pause against your wet walls. When his orgasm washes over him, Aemond is already panting and moaning as if in pain as he rests his forehead against yours; an intense gaze observing yours, focused on every detail of your delicate features. Your hooded gaze, the wet trail of tears on your red cheeks and your uneven breathing. The purest adoration for him shining in your eyes like stars in the dark sky.

And he smiles then.

Because you are his now.

Duly claimed.

With a gentle touch on his elbow, Aemond returns to reality.

The apples of his cheeks are dyed a subtle (but noticeable) shade of red as his violet gaze scans the space in front of him, silently surprised to have been caught in the middle of his unholy reverie.

It's you.

A beautiful silk dress on soft skin. Hair tied in a slightly loose braid. So small compared to him. So beautiful. So...his.

"Prince Aemond, are you okay?"

He looks at you for a moment, debating between feigning disagreement to spare himself the humiliation of being caught or pushing you against the nearest wall.

In the end, he chooses to remain still, head raised proudly and face indifferent, although his violet gaze remains stubbornly tilted downwards, thirsty to maintain eye contact with you.

"Yes, I just got distracted," he says, voice deeper than he'd like it to sound.

You smile, sweet and soft and his heart quickens.

"That's great. Well, it's late and my feet are hurting after all the dancing." You close your eyes in an amused, relaxed expression, there's even a dimple forming in your cheek as the wide smile stretches your lips - and although the sight is enough to fill his chest with a bubbling sensation of pure warmth, a muscle Aemond's jaw jumps at the mere mention of your recent activities. "Have a good night, my Prince." You conclude when he offers no response to your comment, bowing with a respectful farewell before walking away.

He watches you leave the great hall with delicate steps, gentle smiles and nods directed at the people you meet on the way. The image of grace and innocence, without a doubt. At least until you turn your head towards him before walking out the hall doors.

The way your upper teeth sink into the plump flesh of your lower lip, your heavy eyelashes fluttering when you squint briefly, the flushed cheeks and swollen pupils aimed specifically at him...

It happens as quickly as it started. With a fluid movement you turn around again and walk through the hall doors, as if nothing had happened.

Aemond sighs; tired, irritated, burning with lust.

You keep playing with him.

The wine glass shakes and clinks loudly as he places it roughly on the table, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even care if anyone notices as he abruptly follows your steps, leaving the ballroom behind, with a hard gaze and dark features.

He would catch up to you.

And this time he'll make sure it's not just in a daydream-

He will claims you. Truly, indisputably.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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Discovering yourself

Request: Hiiiii. Would you please write something with Aegon x f!reader? I would love to see something where the characters are opposite. Would it be okay for the reader to be a bit shy and socially awkward and loves books and music but at the same time wants to experience a bit of life but doesn’t know how and is a bit afraid to get out of her comfort zone. Once she gets to know someone she talks and is super fun but it takes her a bit of time. And then there is of course Aegon who we know is quite the opposite. The reader fancies him and the two fall in love? Could that be possible? Thank you.

w.c: 3.4k

c.w: baratheon!reader, ooc aegon probably, hes a bit of an ass sometimes, fluff, insecure/shy reader, sfw! no smut since the request didnt state it, not proofread

masterlist

Unlike the rest of your family you had been more than happy when your family received an invitation to stay at kings landing in the red keep for a helena's name day festivities as she had become close with your sister floris. You had not been able to come with the rest of the family last time as you had been in bed rest.

You couldn't even imagine how big the red keep had been and while on the way there you could barely sit still your sister hitting you on the shoulder more than once to stop you from moving around.

“Welcome back to the keep.” Alicent greeted the rest of your family before he eyes locked onto yours, “I don't believe I recognized you.”

You open your mouth to say something but there's a pause and nothing manages to come out so you put your head down as your father speaks, “my daughter, lady y/n, she was bedridden the last time we came to visit.”

Alicent lets out an acknowledged hum and you keep your head down fiddling with the fabric on your dress. You're sure your father will scold you later.

“a pleasure, this is my son aemond and his lady wife heleana, aegon could not be here..”

you can hear the annoyance in her tone but choose to not acknowledge it and greet the other two siblings.

more formalities are exchanged between the two families, “it is so wonderful for house baratheon to join us for heleanas nameday festivities, she has grown quite fond of your family-”

the doors of the room you were all in burst open, all head whip back to look in shock, “prince aegon!”

“I am here.”

“You are late.” you hear his mother hiss quietly to him as he stands in place next to his siblings.”

“apologies, my son prince aegon.”

alicent introduces her son. You had heard the stories of Targaryen beauty and thought the two Targaryen siblings were gorgeous but Aegon, despite the fact he looked tired and a little sloppy, was a different level of beauty. He hadn't even needed to try and he wowed you.

as if he could feel your stare he locks eyes with you and you shyly put your head down towards the floor oblivious to the smirk that's grown on his face.

Some more pleasantries were exchanged but you didn't bother to lift your head still feeling his stare. You wish you weren't so awkward, if you had been anything like your sisters who could keep their heads up high and smile while locking eyes while you could barely hold a sentence with these people.

You barely even notice you had all been dismissed until you felt yourself being dragged away by your sister floris. A part of you can't get the idea of Aegon out of your head, even as you fall asleep that night you wonder if you'll get the opportunity to speak with him.

Today was meant to be the first of a three day long festival including a grand feast, a tourney and finally a ball all in honor of heleana.

The second you walk outside you are immediately hit with hundreds of people, it was definitely a celebration with music, people dancing, some watching the performers. It was magical, you had never seen such life brought to one place before.

You and the rest of your family were sitting in one of the higher tables closer to the targaryens, you watch as floris eagerly runs up to greet heleana while you stand with your sisters who make many comments on the festivities.

“I can't believe he can put that whole sword down his throat.”

“It was just on fire too, how preposterous.”

“Maybe he just has a lot of practice. Do you think he’s fond of men.”

Cassandra and Ellyn turn to you in horror while maris lets out your name in a chuckle while hitting your shoulder.

You shake your head with a grin but are horrified to hear the sound of laughter behind you and turn around.

“Prince aegon.” you're all clearly mortified as you all bow but he moves to stand next to you and stare at the man.

“If he is not he should start to be there is so much potentially to be held.”

“I am so sorry my prince i should not have-”

He waves you off with his hand and continues to look on in the crowd, “these events are such a bore they practically force you to make such a joke.”

“I did not mean to offend-”

“You talk like my brother.”

You have nothing else to say back instead just stand and watch the crowd disperse. It is only then you notice your sisters have all walked off elsewhere and you curse them in your head as the two of you stand in silence aside from the gulps Aegon takes from his chalice.

“What do you think about her?”

He points towards a contortionist not too far from where the two of you were standing. She had her leg way over her head.

“She is very pretty.”

“Oh come on, you must have some other comments to make.”

You tilt your head at her as she moves into a split and lays down flat on her stomach.

“Men must certainly fight for her attention, I am sure she is a rather capable woman.”

Your words are faster than a bird and quieter than a mouse but Aegon certainly hears them and bursts out into a roar of laughter causing those around you to turn and stare. Your face flushes and you stare at the ground as Aegon composes himself still chuckling.

“You are a scandalous lady, y/n.”

You shake your head, “I do not know why I said such a thing.”

“You said it because it is true, look,” he leans in closer to you, much too close, and subtly points, “look at lord simon staunton he looks like he wants to eat her alive.”

You gasp and bring a hand to your mouth as you take notice and look back at Aegon who has a smile on his face, “he is old enough to be her grandfather, no even her great grandfather! That is ridiculous.”

Aegon shrugs, taking another sip of wine with a chuckle. “I rather think that's what he likes about it.”

You can't help but laugh for the first time in this whole conversation keeping your head down. Once you finally lift your head and look at him he's already looking at you. You feel a rush of heat flood your face, he stares at you for a moment longer, his eyes drift down to your lips. He opens his mouth to speak but before he can you hear your fathers voice call out your name.

“I must go.” you quickly turn, feeling embarrassed about the sudden tension between the two of you and barely hear him as you rush away, “i shall see you lady y/n”

You can barely relax the rest of the day your conversion with Aegon playing in your mind over and over. It was the first time you had been sop open with somebody you barely knew. It was so refreshing to be able to joke and laugh with someone who was not your family.that night you toss and turn in bed with a big smile on your face. In turn you cannot sleep so you sit up and contemplate what to do.

You would normally read a book but your father wouldn't allow you to take any on this trip saying there was no need for it but right now youre groaning and fall flat back on the bed.

An idea suddenly hits you, you remember from the tour one of the guards had given you there was a library not too far from your room. It wouldn't be an issue to go and grab a book really quickly right. A grin finds itself on your face as you realize the red keep has many books you have never read or even heard of and before you know it you throw on an overcoat and begin to quickly make your way over to the library with a lantern in hand.

Nobody would mind if you just took one maybe two books to keep you sated for the rest of your stay here right? That's what you think as you manage to sneak in and out of the library with two books under your coat as you quickly try to make your way back to your room. You almost reach your door before a voice behind you rings out.

“Now what could you be doing, wondering about by yourself..”

You turn and gasp, “prince aegon.”

In your shock the books fall out of your hands, you quickly bend down to pick them up missing the ‘ah’ that had escaped his lips.

“So you read?”

“I am so sorry-”

“You did not answer my question.”

You stall for a moment, not daring to lift your head from the floor. “Yes.”

He hums, “you are quite like my brother. I see no fun in it.”

At a loss for words you keep quiet and take a step back closer to your door, turning around fully before you speak, “i shall bid you goodnight-”

“You will sit in the royal box tomorrow for the tourney.” your movements freeze and you're thankful you are not facing him as your face must be full of shock.

You manage to compose yourself not turning around, “i thought my family would be sitting in one of the lower boxes-”

“Not your family. You. you shall sit in the royal box. With me.”

You feel a wild course of emotions run over your body. What does he mean, just you? Is he attempting to court you? He is trying to seduce you? Does he want something from you? Or maybe he is just trying to be kind? Maybe he takes pity on you after you had embarrassed yourself the last two days?

You must be frozen for a while because he begins to laugh. You take a deep breath, “I must decline.” because you certainly cannot sit in the royal box with the prince. What would the people think? What would your father think? You cannot even imagine having to try and explain why you would be sitting with them tomorrow.

“This is not a request. You shall join me tomorrow. I am the prince. I say it is so.”

“But my family.” “They shall sit in the box in one of the many stands below.”

“I cannot just leave my family.”

He tsks and huffs, “then so be it your family shall join us too. I'm sure heleana would be happy to be seated with floris.”

Did he want you to sit in the box so badly he was willing to just add your family at your request just like that? No, he wanted you to sit in the box. With him.

“alright, goodnight my prince.”

You do not even wait for a response as you book it down the hallway and slam the door to your room shut. The books you had gotten drop to the floor as you cover your hands with your face. Out of breath like you had just ran a marathon you find yourself unable to stop smiling.

When you and your family make your way outside you pretend to be shocked when your family is escorted to the royal box. You all greet the royal family who all stand to greet you. Aegon grabs your arm and ushers you to sit down next to him. You ignore the burning stares of your family as aegon quickly makes conversation with you.

“Isn't the view so great from here aren't you happy I told you to sit here?” it's not a question more so a statement and all you can do is nod your head.

“Oh come on you must have something to say to me.” he pouted at you and you swiftly turned away from him, “well you did not ask.” you mumble and he smiles, shaking his head and takes a drink of wine. “I certainly did not. You would have sat here one way or another.”

You're thankful Aegon is sitting in the front row of the box while the rest of your family is all the way in the back so at least you won't have to deal with the questioning of your family.

“Did you prepare a favor lady , y/n?” you turn back to face queen who addressed you and nod, “yes my queen.” not mentioning it is the same favor you've had for awhile as no one had ever asked for your favor. You do not take notice to aegons clenched jaw at the question and narrow eyes at the question.

The journey begins and you've never seen a tourney as big as this one. But as it is it is pretty uneventful. You cannot hold your surprise when you see aemond being introduced. “He is competing?”

Aegon next to you hums as he continues to drink, “he does not like this stuff, calls it horse shit but heleana wanted to see him compete so he entered.”

He of course comes up and asks heleana for her favor which she gladly gives him before he rides away.

“And his opponent, ser bronn beesbury!” The man rides in full confidence. When he takes off his helmet you can't help but admit he is a very handsome man, certainly not more handsome than Aegon but he was a very attractive man. He rides over near the royal box and Aegion sits up for the first time this whole tourney.

“Lady baratheon, you are the essence of beauty.” he holds up his hand towards the box and you're shocked in a haste you look over the edge and toss out your favor for him to catch.

“You bless me this day my lady.”

You sit back in your seat unable to say anything. You end up glancing at Aegon expecting him to make some comment about the man as he had been doing with all the other fighters that day. He was not even looking at you. An unreliable look on his face as he tapped his fingers on the table next to him. He started dead at aemond who stared back for a moment before nodding and slamming his helm down.

The match began and you were wowed as aemond swiftly takes ser bronn down with an extra hard hit and ser bronn hits the floor and doesn't stand back up. You gasp as he's dragged off the scene and for the first time in the last couple minutes Aegon laughs turning to you. “What a fool thinking he can go against a targaryen.”

A part of you feels like he's not just talking about aemond.

you didn't speak to Aegon after the tourney as the men went out on a hunt and you're grateful especially since you're more than embarrassed after your thoughts during today's tourney.

Though it is very tough to answer your family's questions when you don't even know yourself.

Finally it was heleanas name day and the day of the ball. You spent the morning with your family, the royal family nowhere in sight seemingly preparing for tonight's ball.

When you arrive back in your room that afternoon to prepare for the ball you and your maid are shocked to see a beautiful red and black gown laid out on the bed. “Did my father prepare this?”

The maid shook her head, she's been your maid for as long as you can remember so she freely speaks around you, “the baratheons may be wealthy little ones but your father could not afford a dress like this one.”

The dress is gorgeous as you run your hands down it you can barely believe it.

“Well come on little one let's get you dressed.”

When your family comes knocking on your door their eyes all drop to your dress, “what is this look about?”

“Where did you get that dress?”

“Oh I made it just today.”

“Shut your mouth and tell me.”

“I had no idea it was simply on my bed when I walked into my room.”

The discussion of your dress continued until you had been standing in front of the door waiting to be announced.

“Is it not obvious the prince has given her the dress?” You and Cassandra whip your heads to look at maris who shrugs.

“Oh come on it's in the Targaryen house colors and obviously he seems obsessed with our dear sister.”

“Be quiet you three” you would be surprised if your father could not hear the pounding of your heart as you consider maris’ idea.

Would the prince really leave you a dress like this? What could that possibly mean? Before you have any time to think, you and the rest of your family are being announced.

As you walk into the room you fail to ignore the stares of your fellow peers as they all seem to gawk at the dress you had been wearing. Keeping your head lowered slightly you eagerly rush to your seat.

Soon after the main family is announced and everyone stands. When you see Aegon, a pit forms in your stomach. The suit he wears is basically identical to the dress you had on, your sister maris clearly also takes notice of this as she leans towards you, “told you so.”

As the queen gives a speech and thanks everyone you attempt to hide yourself behind your father out of embarrassment but still manage to notice the smug look on aegons face as he looks over at you.

Soon enough dinner is served and the music starts and you forget for a moment why you had been so embarrassed in the first place laughing with your family over good food and good music. After the food in front of you had been cleared you feel eyes staring into your back, refusing to turn around you attempt to continue the conversation you had been having with your sister maris who comments on the fact that one of the lords had stepped on ever girls foot whom he's danced with which causes you to laugh.

A throat clears behind you and you freeze, maris smiles, “good evening my prince.” Everyone greets him as well and he gives a greeting back. You turn back to look at him and your eyes widen as he holds out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

He says it in the same tone he had told you you were to sit in the royal box with him. It is not a question. “Aren't there any other ladies you would prefer to dance with?”

“No. Now come on.”

You glance over at your father who smiles and moves his head signaling for you to dance.

You grab aegons hand and he is more than eager to let you onto the dance floor with him. “I heard you are fond of music.”

“I am my prince,, where did you hear that?”

“One of your sisters had mentioned it. The plain looking one.”

You gasp, “how could you say such a thing?”

He chuckles his eyes never leaving yours, “I am simply stating the truth, I apologize.”

You huff and turn your face away from him, “if anything i am the plain one my prince.”

He huffs as he grabs your chin and turns your head to face him, “you are not. Now shut your mouth.”

A silence fills between the two of you as he continues to stare at you. “Why do you think that?” A pathetic laugh escapes you, “I am not the funniest, I am not the most pretty, not the most talented. I am the quiet sister who has no idea how to speak to people or has no confidence in anything. I shall remain alone forever as a spinster while my sisters all go off and get married.”

The song ends and the two of you stand still while everyone claps. You do not look at him while he stares at you.

“If you are so boring then why have you captured me so. If you are not unfunny then why do I find myself laughing more in your presence than I ever have. If you are so untalented then why are you the first lady I've enjoyed dancing with? If you shall remain alone forever then why do I wish to be by your side.”

You don't even notice that all the eyes in the room are staring at the two of you, aegon is your whole world right now.

“Marry me. And I shall open up the world to you.”

#aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #house of the dragon #aegon the second #prince aegon #aegon iii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Even for someone like him, love is inevitable. When night fell, he seeks you out as he always does.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

━─━────━─━────༺༻━─━────────━─━

In the hushed corridors of the castle, where shadows danced with the cold embrace of night, only the flickering torches dared to defy the darkness, casting a warm glow upon the stone walls and his embrace.

As the night descended into a tranquil stillness, free from prying eyes and whispered rumors, he sought you out in your chamber, a ritual unchanged.

Seated upon a chair, you traced the silver strands cascading over your shoulders, the fabric of your gown draped loosely around your delicate form. The touch of those strands between your fingers felt as soft as a whispered promise. The creak of the door announced his arrival, and without needing to turn, you knew it was him.

"I see you adorn the necklace I had given to you," he murmured, closing the door with a gentle hand before drawing near, his presence a comforting weight behind you. Leaning in, he rested his chin upon your shoulder, breathing in deeply the intoxicating fragrance that stirred his desires. His hands found solace at your waist.

Gazing at him through the looking glass, a soft smile graced your lips. "Why would I not wear such a precious gift from you?" you replied with a warmth that matched the flickering torchlight. His gifts were treasures you held dear, symbols of his affection that you cherished. Your eyes met his reflection in the mirror, admiring the striking beauty illuminated by the dancing flames. He was beautiful.

Daemon pressed a tender kiss upon your shoulder, a silent claim of ownership. A moment of silence enveloped you both before he broke the silence with words. "You remain as resplendent as ever, my beloved," he whispered, planting a gentle kiss upon your cheek as his gaze lingered on your reflection.

A goddess in his eyes.

"Your father is a fool for not wedding us together," he says softly, a hint of annoyance coloring his voice. "I would shower you with adoration and love you beyond measure, far more than any lord could. He is blind to not notice it." He clicked his tongue, and the fire inside him stirred. "Nonetheless, you are mine, are you not?" With a tender touch, he lifted your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his own. "Are you?"

In that moment, your gaze ablaze with the fervor of love, you answered, "I am yours."

#daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #prince daemon #prince daemon targaryen #daemon #prince daemon x reader #the rouge prince

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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Troublemaker PT. 4 | Daemon Targaryen x reader

Summary: When I said I would not write another part of troublemaker, oops. here it is. Daemon worrying about his pregnant wife. part 1, part 2, part 3 of the troublemaker serie.

111 AC

“Y/n Targaryen what in the gods name are you doing?” she looked over her shoulder to see your husband and you feel the horse stiffen underneath you. For a split second you have the fear that it will buck and run for the hills, but it calms down enough to shake its head and relax. You softly stroke her neck and praise her for not running away in fear. Anya is a beautiful black mare, who could be clumsy at times, but she trotted and jumped as the best. She did not like men around her much and at times she could have a bit of a temperament, but she was a gentle soul and very curious. As soon as the two of you had meet. She had instantly bonded with you and you with her. She had been a gift from Daemon for your first marriage anniversary. According to him, the horse’s temperament had reminded you of him when he saw Anya for the very first time. He had been away for business and when walking through the stables with a lord he had come across Anya.

Keep reading

#daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #prince daemon #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #prince daemon x reader #the rouge prince

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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"Finer Things" - Daemon Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

a/n: SO this is a little pick me up fic for my darling @dreamfyre03. you'd requested a ye olde bimbo fic a while back and i hope this one (which i combined with an anon request for daemon stealing otto's betrothed) is able to make you smile love 🩷

Summary: When Daemon meets you, Otto Hightower's sweet and innocent betrothed, he knows he'd do anything to have you for himself.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, infidelity technically not really, semi public sexual encounter, fingering, breeding kink, dirty talk

Word Count: 2,255 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Daemon has no interest in meeting you at first. The second wife to be of Ser Otto Hightower, his grandsire’s Lord Hand. A spoiled Lannister brat, no doubt, with your nose in the air and head in the clouds. Lannister women are always too pretty, and they always know it, he thinks. You, with tales of your beauty having spread around the realm, are likely no exception to this rule. He begrudgingly follows Viserys and Rhaenys to the courtyard, where you, your father, and your younger twin brothers are to be greeted.

The moment he sees you emerge from the wheelhouse, Daemon knows his life is forever changed. You are unlike any of the ladies who flock to his side in the capitol, unlike anyone he’s ever seen before. There is an innocent air about you, a naivete that he finds intoxicating. He watches as you greet his grandsire and grandmother, then his brother and cousin. Finally, you approach him, a sweet smile on your face as you greet him with a low curtsy.

“Prince Daemon. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

His eyes are filled with an intense curiosity as he eyes you up and down for a moment too long before quickly nodding and taking your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“You are as stunning as they say, Lady Lannister. In fact, the tales I have heard of your beauty have not done it true justice.”

You let out a soft laugh, a lilting sound that has Daemon wanting nothing more than to hear it again as you reply, “You are very kind, Your Grace. I only hope my betrothed feels the same as you do.”

Your words hit the prince like a slap to the face. Your betrothed. Yes, that’s the reason you’re here in the first place, isn’t it? To wed that slithering serpent Otto Hightower. A woman like you deserves so much more than to be the second wife of that unfeeling cunt. He won’t let this happen. He can’t. Not when you could have so much more. Not when you could have him.

“Ser Otto is a lucky man,” Daemon allows a pregnant pause before continuing, “However, my lady, the Lord Hand is old enough to be your father. Surely such a match is… Well, pardon my frankness, but inappropriate.”

You give him a small smile, and instantly he can tell that even if you don’t say it openly, you agree with his words. Good. The foundation of your relationship is already shaky. A few well timed blows will be enough to break it entirely. Daemon offers you his arm as he escorts you inside the Red Keep, listening as you speak in a hushed tone, admitting what he already knew.

“In truth, I’m a bit anxious, Your Grace. The man is old enough to be my father.”

“Then, my lady,” Daemon leans in, whispering in your ear as he escorts you to your guest chambers, “May I ask if you were to marry anyone in the realm, any man of your choosing, who would you want?”

You shy away slightly at the question, a sight which intrigues him greatly as you mumble, “Oh, goodness. I don’t know, actually. Truly, I don’t know many people outside my own house. My own immediate family, really.”

“What about me?” Daemon teases, growing impatient now in his desire to have you, to steal you, “Would you want me?”

“Well, I’ve only just made your acquaintance, Your Grace…”

Such an adorable little thing you are, barely able to meet his eye. He wonders if this is the first time you’ve been in such close proximity to a man outside of your own family. Judging by the way you react to the tiniest of gestures, he’s quite sure it’s true. Your footsteps and Daemons’ echo along the stone corridor as you walk through Maegor’s Holdfast.

“And if you knew me better?” Daemon questions, his voice full of excitement as he gives you a cheeky smile.

“I… I believe I hear my septa calling for me-”

Before you can get too far, Daemon catches you by the wrist, stopping you gently. You gasp softly, lips parting in surprise as you turn back to face him, gazing up into his lilac eyes. The two of you stand close to each other, almost inappropriately so. Daemon’s gaze moves downward, admiring the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the way your breasts strain against the bodice of your dress. You’re so beautiful. So ripe for the taking. A lady of your beauty, your kindness and innocence, you don’t deserve to be the second wife of a second son. You deserve a life of luxury. You deserve nothing less than Prince Daemon.

“Please, allow me to walk with you until we reach her?”

You nod slowly, taking his arm again, the two of you continuing to make your way through the Keep. The silence is not uncomfortable, but there is certainly a tension between you two. What kind of tension it is on your end remains to be seen, but judging by the way your eyes dart over to take in Daemon’s side profile every few minutes, he believes your thoughts of him to be favorable indeed.

“What is Casterly Rock like, my lady?” Daemon asks, noting the way you glance around the corridor at everything, taking it all in, “I have heard the Westerlands are quite beautiful, though I’ve never had the opportunity to visit myself.”

You immediately begin rambling to him about how wonderful the Westerlands are, how calm and temperate. Daemon loves the way you speak, your voice so gentle and yet so vibrant and full of life when you speak on things that interest you. He listens intently as you describe your home, growing up there with your little twin brothers, the shining sun and green grass as far as the eye can see. And when you suggest that he visit there when he is able, he gives you a little smirk.

“Oh, do I have my lady’s invitation?”

Daemon wonders if you know how beautiful you look with your lips parted in surprise at his forwardness. He wonders if you know how much he longs to gather you in his arms and kiss those sweet lips, to touch your soft body, to run his hands through your hair. But he must bide his time. He must make sure that when he takes you that the two of you will not be interrupted.

Or that if you are, it is by the right person.

So, he escorts you to your septa, giving a low bow at the waist, before declaring that he looks forward to seeing you at dinner that evening.

Daemon watches you intently as you try to make conversation with Ser Otto. You are so sweet and gentle, and so very naive as you try to ask about his taste in music, in fine art. But Ser Otto has no appetite for the finger things in life. Not like Daemon does. As far as Daemon is concerned, all Otto cares for is the advancement of his own family at the expense of everyone else’s. He’ll likely breed you then toss you aside when he has no further use for you.

Daemon, on the other hand? He would keep you by his side. His precious, innocent lady wife. He would treat you like a princess, the way you’ve been treated your whole life. Otto doesn’t know how lucky he is, being betrothed to a woman like you. And he is never going to know what it is like being married to you. Not if Daemon has anything to say about it.

You seem so dreadfully bored, that he has no choice but to come to your rescue. You’re busy poking at the venison on your plate, an adorable pout on your face when he comes to you.He has no doubt in his mind that you’re terribly disillusioned with the utter bore your betrothed has turned out to be. Daemon rests a hand on your shoulder, startling you ever so slightly as he leans in to whisper in your ear.

“Have you heard of my family’s tapestries, my lady? As a patron of the arts, I believe they would be of great interest to you. If you are finished with your meal, perhaps we might go and view them in the gallery together?”

You smile at him brightly, “Nothing would make me happier, my prince.”

The two of you make your way to the gallery, and Daemon presents the first piece to you. A nude woman being embraced by a dragon, its body coiled around hers. He half expects you to be disgusted at the sight, but instead? You gaze upon it serenely, almost thoughtful as you question him what he believes it represents.

“Passion,” Daemon murmurs, “Fire.”

“I agree,” you smile at him, “You are an artist at heart, my prince.”

“Perhaps one day, I could paint a picture of the two of us like this, my lioness,” he teases, reveling in the way your lips part in shock at his forward nature as he leans in close to you, one of his hands caressing the side of your face, “Have you ever had a man desire you before, Lady Lannister? Ever felt his lips upon your own? That ache between your thighs as your fingers wander late at night and you fantasize about his body on top of yours?”

You shake your head, your voice trembling as you whisper, “I… I cannot say that I have, Your Grace.”

“Hm,” Daemon hums, his free hand grabbing you by the waist, pulling your body flush up against his, “Otto Hightower is a fool. You are a goddess among women. The Maiden in human form. And you ought to be worshiped like a goddess. You ought to be kissed every minute of every day along every inch of that perfect body.”

You gasp softly, melting into his embrace as he holds you close, pinning you against the wall. Your fingers twist in the fabric of his tunic as he brings his lips close to yours, his breath hot against your face as he whispers.

“Let me teach you what it is to be loved by a man, my lioness. What it is to be loved by a dragon.”

“But there are more tapestries…” You reply breathily, glancing down the hall.

“You don’t truly believe I brought you here to look at those, do you?”

His lips come crashing down against yours, and just as a dragon would, Prince Daemon seeks to devour you. The sweetness of your lips against his, the way your body curves against his and fits so perfectly… It’s enough to have his cock straining against his breeches. You cling to him, your soft whimpers spurring him on as you kiss him back feverishly. Daemon’s fingers tangle in your hair, tugging gently. He chuckles at the soft moan you let out at the feeling, his hands moving lower and lower, lifting the skirt of your dress enough to slide his hand beneath your small clothes.

The prince cups your mound, fingers collecting the wetness that has pooled between your thighs from his kiss alone. You stare up at him with wide eyes as he pushes two fingers inside you, curving them slightly. Your wet heat squeezes his fingers as he moves them in and out of you at a languid pace, admiring the way your face twists in pleasure at his ministrations.

“Keep your eyes on me, sweet girl,” he murmurs, “Let me teach you what true pleasure is. This is only the beginning. I have so much more in store for you.” You let out a mewl of his name, the heel of his palm pressed against your swollen pearl as he fucks you with his fingers, “I’ll taste that sweet, wet little cunny of yours. And then, on the night I wed you, I’ll breed you. I’ll keep you a maiden till then, tease you until you beg for me. You’ll beg for my cock, my fingers, my tongue, anything I’m willing to give you. I’ll spill my seed inside your cunt and your belly will grow round with my babe. I’ll breed you on our wedding night and every night thereafter.”

Daemon grins at the way your body tightens at his words, the effect he has on you being so very visceral in nature. He knows you’re close, judging by your heavy breathing, that glazed over look in your eyes, your lashes fluttering as he rubs against that spot deep inside you. The one you’ve always shied away from and never touched, the pads of his fingers moving against it furiously until you cry out his name, spilling yourself all over his fingers.

The two of you return to the dining table, flushed, sweaty, hair in disarray. Ser Otto stares at the two of you suspiciously, especially when you gasp as Daemon licks his fingers clean.

As far as anyone at the table knows, he was merely savoring the food he just ate.

But in truth? The Rogue Prince is thinking about the meal he’s going to have every night for the rest of his life. For he has every intention of stealing you away tonight to Dragonstone and wedding you in the tradition of his ancestors.

He, unlike Ser Otto, knows how to appreciate the finer things in life.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon #prince daemon #prince daemon targaryen #daemon #the rouge prince

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targrayenbunny · 2 months

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firehaired, lavendereyed -- oneshot.

mean prince regent aemond x pregnant wife reader

a sequel to foxfaced, dragonhearted. it can be read as a standalone, though! its not as dark or mean as the first one and is (kinda) fluffy. thank you @echos-muses for inspiring this!

word count: 2.5k

@huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: smut (specifics below cut), angst, fluffy, meanish aemond, prob unhealthy relationship, emotionally constipated aemond experiences emotions, reader is described w/ auburn hair, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes, pregnancy

cloudbusting - kate bush • i bet on losing dogs - mitski

warnings: oral (f receiving), p in v, talks of choking and biting but its not in this fic, BREEDING KINK

Being the wife of a prince, a prince-regent no less, always felt like an honor. People would bow at you in the corridors, maids would bring you your favorite sweets without asking, courtiers would invite you to countless luncheons and extravagant events. It made you wonder, though– was it out of respect for your station– or out of fear for your husband?

He was constantly your shadow now, insisting on being with you at every waking moment ever since the maesters confirmed your pregnancy. His hand would constantly be guiding you on the middle of your back, towards whatever destination you were off to. He would insist you eat more for the babe, would rub your feet and prop pillows behind your back when you both retired for the day.

As he shepherded you into the throne room, he glanced at the courtesans and sworn lords alike– he had worn the crown since his brother fell from the sky in flames, burnt and scarred. He melded into the role like he was meant for it, as you so told him.

‘It looks better on you than it ever did on him, husband.’

‘Careful now, dear wife. That sounds treasonous, does it not?’

It wasn’t hard to spur him on into a feral state of being lately, as he adored your body filling out, belly stretching, breasts growing as you carried his child. His, his. He was still cold, in his way, of course– that would be something you would never pull him out of.

‘Husband?’ you had mewled softly as you came back from the maester’s chambers after receiving the news.

Aemond was sitting on the loveseat in front of the fire, one hand parting the pages of a book. He looked deep in thought, bristling slightly at being interrupted. ‘What?’

‘I’ve just come from the maester’s chambers,’ you started, walking slowly towards him like a skittish animal.

‘Why? Are you hurt?’ he closed his book with a loud snap and set it aside. ‘Come.’ he prostrated himself on the couch, legs spread slightly as an indication.

You lifted your skirts and sat upon his lap, as you do– as he commands, usually. It was easy to know what he wanted without words. He inspected your face carefully, turning you from side to side, skin taut between thumb and forefinger. Then, the back of his hand felt your forehead. ‘You aren’t running a temperature. You aren’t sick, are you, little wife?’

‘N-No… I had thought so with… the issues of late.’

‘Issues? What issues?’ he pressed, his lone eye boring into you with intensity.

‘I… ehm… have had an upset stomach– and… my…’ you blushed as you spoke. ‘My breasts have been tender.’

‘... hm.’

‘The maesters– they… inspected, thoroughly. They say I am with child… two moons.’

‘Pregnant. You’re… pregnant?’

‘Y-yes.’

Aemond stared at you for a long moment, not blinking. You had feared his reaction, you weren’t sure why, though. You knew your husband… liked you, didn’t he? In his own, special way. The way that he loved to call you stupid and bite you and choke you and never tell you that he loves you, except when lost in the throes of pleasure.

‘Husband?’ you squeaked out, anxiety swirling in the pit of your stomach at his lack of reaction. Aemond was good at concealing his emotions– but you could see the pupil of his violet eye dilating like a creature in the dark.

‘Good,’ he said simply, a hand on your waist, squeezing slightly. Then, a moment of recollection came over his face and he stopped squeezing, letting his hand laze on the curve of your body.

‘... good?’

‘Yes. Good. Do you wish praise for doing your duty?’ he grunted, already beginning to unlace your bodice. He wriggled it down your chemise and pawed one of your breasts. ‘Hm.’

‘W-what?’

‘They do seem… larger.’

He was gentle to you that night and every night after that. In touch and act alone– his words still left much to be desired.

As you both perused the throne room, approaching the iron throne, Aemond’s jaw clenched in irritation. You were well along in your pregnancy now, eight moons, and were quite round and stout, feeling all the part of a plump trout carrying eggs, trying to swim upstream–

“Where is the chair?” Aemond barked suddenly, causing you to jump.

“T-the chair, your grace?” one of the servants mumbled.

“The chair for my lady wife, you fool. Do you expect her to stand?” He thoroughly scared the daylights out of the poor servant, who rushed off to find a chair. “Incompetent.”

“... I pray he returns soon– my ankles are protesting this walk.” you murmured.

“If all of these prying eyes weren’t here,” Aemond whispered in your ear. “Mayhaps I’d have you sit with me on the throne.”

The thought of it sent a thrill through you, tingling all the way to the base of your spine and beyond. It was a wonderful fantasy, but you couldn’t get the logistics of it out of your head– you would certainly impale yourself on one of the unruly swords. “Mayhaps we can arrange something in our chambers after this, husband?”

Aemond uttered a sound between a growl and a quiet moan before guiding you further to your seat, now properly prepared. You leaned back on the chair, adorned with a pillow, putting a hand over your swollen belly.

As much as you appreciated Aemond’s… concern and vigilance with having you everywhere with him, you wished you could skip the tedious things. Your mind wondered the entirety of the session, tuning out the droning voices of the lords and only focusing on your husband’s. He sounded so powerful, commanding his lessers as if they were the sheep and he the shepherd. You didn’t lie when you thought the crown looked better on him than Aegon– Aemond was more suited towards this life.

You know he wanted it all– the title, the crown, but not at the expense of his brother, never at his expense– so he would have to be content with what he could make for himself. That included you and your unborn child. You wished so dearly that it would be a son, a son for him to continue his bloodline, his legacy.

Finally, the meeting ended and Aemond all but swept you off your aching feet to your rooms. He set you down on the bed and undressed you without much ceremony. “I couldn’t keep my mind off of you that entire time– if I were a lesser man… I may have not waited until our chambers to succumb to you.” he whispered, dragging kisses up from your knees, to your thighs and then your belly.

A gentle, but calloused, hand wrought over the stretched skin. He loved touching your belly, he couldn’t get enough of it– he was a scholarly man in all accounts, secretly in wonder of the machinations of the human body and how it could vessel something like another person. He would never admit this, of course, but you could tell just by how his eye roved your form, how he took in every detail. He parted your legs, swiping a finger between your already soaked folds– as it didn’t take much for you to become feral these days, either. You had been since he suggested the idea of the throne, forced to squeeze your thighs together through the duration of the hearing to relieve some of the ache.

“So wet for me already, are you?” he hummed, gathering your slick with two fingers this time and kissing your thigh, so close, so close to your aching center.

“... y-yes, husband– you kept me waiting,” you murmured. In your pregnancy, you’d become indignant and spoiled– and he let you. “So cruel.”

“Cruel?” Aemond questioned, a brow raised. “Cruel– you know me cruel, my dear wife,” he growled, parting your folds and licking a line from bottom to top. “Cruel would be… letting you sit for hours longer on the edge and not giving it to you,” he anointed his point by roving his tongue over your pearl, eliciting a keening whine from you. “Or mayhaps, not giving it to you at all. Shall I be cruel, wife?”

You shook your head fervently. “P-please, Aemond,” you panted, the heat of the moment and your out-of-whack hormones already making you perspire, sweat beading at your forehead. You felt like a bitch in heat, every touch of him on you was like a thousand sparks from a flint, trying to light your pleasure, trying, trying– but then dying, but it was always so close, on the precipice. “Touch me– don’t tease me.”

“Hm,” he roved it over in his mind for a faux moment. “You are doing so well carrying my child, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, please!”

“Mayhaps I will reward you for being a good wife, a good mother.”

“Please, my king,” you whimpered, using his title only reserved for bedplay. You wanted it bad, and he knew.

Once again, his pupil waxed and waned like the moon phases, like the ebbing and flowing tide– and then he began to feast upon you like the animal he truly was. His tongue roved over your sensitive core, suckling and nipping. Your hand flew to his hair, clenching it into your fist. He had become so expert in pleasing you with his mouth, something he only started after you became pregnant– you hoped this would stay.

“A-Aemond, f-fuck,” you cursed, throwing your head back on the pillow, clutching his silky strands between your fingers. “M-more, your grace–”

He lavished you like he was starved, not letting up at any point to even let you breathe– it was a constant assault on your clit, with only a few moments of relief when he caught his breath, looking up at you like the cat who got the cream, a smug grin on his face, the glisten of your essence on him. His thumb finished what his tongue started, kneading over your sensitive bud as you babbled and cried, fluttering around nothing as you came.

You heard the sound of his belt undoing, and his hand was in yours, guiding you to his rock hard member. “Don’t you see what you do to me, hm? I quite like you round, so full of my child,” he said as he lined up with your entrance, sliding in with no resistance. “Mayhaps I shall keep you like this and we will have an entire castle full of children.” he stayed upright, hands on your thighs. You still ached for his hand around your throat, so badly– but it wasn’t good for the babe.

He began a slow, almost lazy pace, staring down at you now as he loomed like a shadow, picking up his speed. As he sped up, he reached up and tore off his eyepatch, throwing it aside. The sapphire in his eye socket gleamed at you and you swore you could see yourself reflected into it–

It didn’t take long for him to reach his own peak, grunting and growling, balls tightening. His hand also itched so desperately to lace around your throat like a necklace, but his hand just twitched and clawed into the sheets as he emptied himself into you. He, regrettably to both of you, pulled out and encircled himself around you, arms resting on your ribs as you were lulled to sleep by his breathing and closeness.

You awoke, not knowing how many hours later, to him speaking. “Nyke jaelagon ao emagon aōha muñnykeā's pungos.” I hope you have your mother’s nose. “Ao'll rhaenagon gūrēñare lēda iā egros rȳ izula. Iā kostilus tōma. Aōha muña kessa daor hae ziry, nyke gīmigon.” You'll start training with a sword at age four. Or perhaps five. Your mother will not like it, I know.

His head was laid near your belly, faced away from you, his hand draped over it softly. He didn’t know you were awake– he was… speaking to the baby. You could only catch bits and pieces of what he was saying– but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a conversation for you to know. You closed your eyes once more.

–

“M-may the mother… guide me… and bless me with a son,” you murmured. “Bless us with a son, please.” you groaned as you tried to get up, your knees bruised and sore. You had been praying every day for the last fortnight as your delivery loomed closer. You feared to give him a daughter– as accompanying as he’d been during your pregnancy, you knew… you knew what he wanted. And you knew it was a coin flip to give him what he wanted.

You felt heavier than usual, finding it difficult to get back up after being down for so long– you felt a strain in your lower back, then an acute pop. A gush of wetness flowed down your legs. “A-ah– ser!” you called to your sworn sword, a member of the Kingsguard picked by Aemond specifically to be with you at all times when he wasn’t around. Presently, Aemond was taking a ride upon Vhagar. “Ser!”

“My lady?” the Kingsguard rushed in, eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

“T-the… the babe–”

–

“Why wasn’t I notified?” Aemond growled, stalking through the corridors as he paced to the maester’s quarters.

“Y-You were in the sky, your grace– we didn’t know how to reach you–”

“Fuck’s sake– is she alright, then?”

“Yes– uhm…”

“Uhm? What? Is my wife alright or not?!”

“Yes– she and the babe are alright.”

Aemond fumed as he opened the doors, eye zeroing in on the maester, then you. You were mortified, crying, holding a little bundle against your breast.

“A-Aemond,” you croaked. You were shaking like a leaf.

“Congratulations, your grace,” the maester spoke. “It is a healthy baby girl.”

Girl.

You couldn’t stop sobbing as you watched his face, impassive, turn to confusion, to longing, to grief, to anger, to…. Nothing. He stared at you blankly then.

“Aemond– please– I- I prayed to the Gods every day for a son, I’m sorry,” you blubbered. “I’m so sorry–”

“Don’t.” Aemond’s voice snapped like a whip as he walked closer. “Let me see the babe.”

You offered the bundle to him– a baby girl. She had curls of red hair like you and lavender eyes like her father. Sensing movement and a change of presence, the baby sneezed, staring up at her father. He stared back, his expression unreadable. “Vaella. Her name is Vaella.” he didn’t ask, nor suggest. He declared. Glancing back at you, he spoke quietly. “We will just have to try again, won’t we, wife?” His tone was like a fog upon you– it was proposed like a thinly veiled threat, a promise– but then his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. You wonder if you imagined it. “Kirimvose, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys.” Thank you, sweet wife. “Ñuha hūra,” My moon. He turned back to Vaella, whispering. “Se ñuha qēlossās.” And my stars.

–

Aemond ended up getting his heir and then some, a year and a half later. You gave birth to triplets. All boys.

Maegon, Vaelar, and Rhaelor.

#aemond #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #prince aemond x reader #prince aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon

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targrayenbunny · 3 months

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"Blameless"

Jaehaera & Aegon with lovely kittens and childhood that they deserve for twitter request💙

#jaehaera targaryen #aegon iii targaryen #house of the dragon #fanart

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targrayenbunny · 3 months

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— I miss you (traitor)

Aemond x Niece!Reader

A perspective on the iconic dinner table scene in episode eight.

Word count: 11k

Dividers: @cafekitsune @saradika

Rating: Explicit +18 (friendship, angst, heartbreak, fingering, dry humping, grinding)

Proceed with caution.

English is not my first language.

••••••

"Zaldrīzis buzdari iksos daor." You try one more time.

"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor." Aemond corrects you gently, in perfectly correct dialect.

You huff, a pout forming on your lips as you cross your arms over your chest. "It's unfair how good you are at this. We have the same instructor, I don't understand." Your childish voice sounds sullen.

Aemond smiles and shakes his head at your little tantrum, flipping through the Valyrian dictionary to the next page. "I'm older than you, Y/n. It's only natural that I have an easier time with this." He tries to spare your feelings.

"You're only two years older, don't be so arrogant." You complain with flushed cheeks, feeling even more humiliated than before. It's true that you're only seven years old, but your Valyrian isn't progressing as well as Aemond's was a few years ago at the same age as you. "I just wish I was as good as you."

He brings a hand to your head, where he shakes the strands of your hair in a familiar gesture of affection. "Well, I need to get some advantage, don't you think? After all, you have a dragon and I don't."

You know it's supposed to be a funny comment, something to continue the subtle teasing of your conversation. But as he looks at you, even in the precarious lighting of the single candlestick the two of you brought into the library, you can notice how a shadow of pain shines in his lavender eyes - something he quickly covers up with a subtle shake of his head, returning the previous kind expression for you.

"You can't win every time, bug. Don't be greedy." He ends with a shrug and a mischievous look, the annoying nickname hanging in the air like bait on a hook, just waiting to catch the fish.

"Huh?! Aem! I already told you to stop calling me that, it's annoying and I'm definitely not a bug." You allow yourself to be hooked, your pout increasing drastically, which only serves to get a few laughs from the boy sitting in front of you in the dark corridor of the Red Keep's huge library.

When you huff loudly and roll your eyes, bracing your hands on the floor to stand, Aemond grabs you and knocks you down; pale fingers circling your belly in a tickling attack. You scream in shock and try to grab his wrists, but he is bigger and faster, preventing your movements as he continues his torture.

"Aemond, stop it now! I already told you I don't like it when-" you cut yourself off as an almost hysterical laugh bubbles up uncontrollably from your throat, your small body shaking and writhing on the floor as you try to escape his cruel fingers. You laugh and cover your lips with your hands so that the two of you won't be discovered, but Aemond laughs even harder at this, hitting the same sensitive spot on your stomach several times until you're literally crying with laughter.

"Please, please Aem, I can't breathe!" You try to control your voice. It's late at night and the Keep is silent. Any noise could alert someone and there was no way your mothers could find out about you and Aemond's nighttime escapades.

Aemond notices you breathing heavily, tears streaming down your chubby, rosy cheeks. With a softer smile he loosens the grip he had on you, holding your hands as he helps you sit up. You both fall silent, only the sound of your rapid breathing is heard.

He takes one last look at you to make sure you're okay, then grabs the dictionary, ready to pick up where they left off.

"Aem..." You call him, softly.

He looks up from the book.

"You will claim a dragon soon. It will be a large and terrifying dragon, everyone will be afraid of you two, just as they feared Aegon the Conqueror and Balerion. I know it." You feel your cheeks getting warmer, your little fingers nervously twisting the hem of your cloak. Aemond just looks at you, lips parted and lilac eyes surprised. "But –, well, until that happens, you can always stay with me and Rhaegon. I don't mind. We love having you around."

Aemond blinks slowly at you, eyes wide. You start to get nervous. Did you say something wrong? You both had always been very close, you didn't think something like that could offend him. But Aemond is actually very sensitive when it comes to this, so maybe you crossed a line.

"I-I know it's not the same. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you offended or upset-" your little hands are flapping in the air as you try to adjust what you said.

"Hey, hey..." He cuts you off, holding your nervous hands in his with a comforting grip. He breathes slowly, a small grateful smile on his lips. "Thank you, little bug." You let your shoulders relax dramatically, a loud, relieved exhale leaving your mouth, almost making you sink to the floor.

He gives your forehead a gentle flick.

"Now, enough talking. Where do we stop?"

He picks up the dictionary again, ignoring the starry, dreamy look you give him.

At that time you couldn't notice how he sits a little closer to you after that.

You are nine years old when Aemond finds you crying.

Huddled against a darker corner of the hallway, hugging your knees to your chest. Your once immaculately embroidered dress is now smeared with mud, your hair is falling in disheveled curls around your flushed, tear-stained face. You're trying to hold back the sobs, but your small body shakes with each ragged breath.

Aemond doesn't like the sight at all.

"Y/n?" He asks softly, moving closer to you until he's crouched beside you, one hand gently smoothing your back - as if you were a delicate piece from some beautiful collection; a precious but fragile reliquary that could crack at any moment under his touch. "What happened?"

You lift your head to look into his eyes, cheek muddy and small lips quivering as you try to calm down.

"T-they were cruel to me, again."

Aemond furrows his eyebrows.

"Aegon and your brothers?" He asks, a dark tone already taking over his youthful voice. He wouldn't be surprised if the answer was yes. The boys didn't just like to humiliate and have fun at Aemond's own expense, but at your expense as well. The provocations were constant; from how fragile and whiny you were, to how you would never be a true dragon rider - even that you, in fact, have one.

You don't have many friends.

But neither did Aemond.

"N-no, it wasn't them this time. It was some kids who were near the training yard." Aemond blinks in confusion, waiting for you to continue. His fingers try to gently wipe the tears from your cheeks, even though more are leaking from your eyes. “They pushed me into the mud puddle...” you sniffle, trying to rub away the dirt stain that is embedded all along the length of your dress sleeve. "And then they stood there while I tried to get up, laughing and pointing at me, saying that the mud was where I belong since I'm a...they said I was nothing but a...a..."

Aemond feels like he knows where this is going, but he wants to hear it anyway.

"What?"

If possible, your cheeks seem to blush even more.

"A dirty little bastard."

You sob and hide your face in your arms, pulling your legs closer to your body.

He takes a deep breath, knowing he was on shaky ground now.

The rumor is not new. Aemond knows this. And the undeniable physical evidence points to confirming the suspicion of a large part of the population of Kings Landing.

He may be young, but he is no fool. He himself has his thoughts (his certainties) about this. He knows you are not the daughter of Laenor Velaryon.

But while he goes to great lengths to internally resent his nephews about it, he's never held it against you.

It felt wrong.

And it seems even more wrong that others are using it to humiliate you.

"I don't understand, Aemond...why are people so mean?" He can barely hear your question with the choked way your voice sounds.

Aemond definitely doesn't like this.

“They-,” he starts, using two fingers to cup your chin and gently lift your head. "Look, they just want to destabilize you. They want to wipe the smile off your face. I just, I should- you know what? I will resolve this."

He says after a huff, already standing up. He cannot allow something like this to happen, he cannot allow boys with no name or relevance, probably sons of the kennel master or some other function as simple as that, to insult and attack the Princess and still dare to get away with it.

You shake your head, eyes bright and wide, your hand closing around his wrist as you stop him from leaving.

“N-no! It's okay...I'm okay now, please. Don't go. Stay with me. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Aemond twists his lips thoughtfully. But you bat your long, dewy eyelashes at him and he sighs, returning to crouch beside you. He is weak; he knows. Unable to deny anything when you look at him like that.

The boys' punishment would come later.

You're still crying, but your lips stretch into a wide, trembling smile and you look at him like he's your knight in shining armor and Aemond thinks your presence is like the sun itself, burning his skin with heat as you jump and hugs him abruptly. He rolls his eyes at your exaggerated attitude, but wraps his own arms around you, unfazed by the mud that is now staining his clothes.

"You're the person I trust most in my life, Aemond. You know that, right?" You whisper close to his ear.

And as you hold him tightly, as if you would fall apart without his arms keeping you close, Aemond thinks about the depth of your statement and can feel his own cheeks heat up and his heart speed up in response.

"I know that, little bug."

With every fiber of your being.

You trust Aemond.

You are ten years old when you discover that your words have come true and Aemond is in the heavens, riding none other than the largest dragon in the world.

He's magnificent.

He's really like Aegon the Conqueror.

It's like witnessing a miracle and you want nothing more than to reach Rhaegon and dance in the skies with Aemond.

But it's also all a disaster.

It all happens too fast. Too fast for you to have any real chance of understanding in clear detail what is happening.

You remember leaning on the balcony of your designated chamber for the time you've been in Driftmark, still sad from the day's events. Sad for your cousins, who just buried their own mother. Saddened by the death of Harwin Strong, a tragic event that no one seems to give due importance to. A good, kind man who you had had a deep bond with since you were a baby - bond far more meaningful than the one you had with your 'real father'.

You are not so innocent anymore. No matter how much Jace says otherwise, the truth has been hanging over your head like a physical weight for some time now, just waiting for your confession. Which only makes dealing with the man's death more difficult.

It's all a lot to handle.

You had gone out to your private balcony in search of some relief from the unexpected suffocation in your chest, but the high-pitched choke that leaves your throat only makes everything worse. Because, there in the skies, there is Aemond - majestic and indomitable, unquestionably claiming Vhagar for himself in plain sight, the dragon your cousin would claim for her after recovering from her mother's funeral.

After that, there was only chaos.

You almost fall down the stairs in your rush to get to him before your brothers and cousins. And still, you arrive too late.

Before you even see them, you hear Aemond teasing Rhaena that Jace and Luke should get her a pig to ride, and she shoves him violently at the same time as you finally catch up to them. Aemond recovers quickly and pushes her back to the ground.

Baela roars when she sees her sister being hit and punches Aemond. He hits her in response with enough force to knock her to the ground. You scream and try to push him away - not to hurt him, just to keep him away. But it's as if he were another person, ignoring your presence as if you weren't even there. He screams and says that if Baela comes to him again, he will give her as meal to Vhagar.

Jace, angry that Baela was hurt and threatened, pulls you hard by the shoulder and you bang your head against the wall from the intensity of his action, your eyes closing in pain, which finally seems to draw Aemond's attention to you. He blinks and tries to go towards you, but Jace gets to him before, knocking him down and hitting him with several punches.

"STOP IT! JACE, ENOUGH! YOU ALL NEED TO STOP NOW!" You scream and try to pull Jace away, but Luke grabs you around the waist and pulls you back. You scratch his hands, hearing him scold you for defending Aemond.

But Aemond manages to kick Jace at some point and Luke finally lets go of you, heading towards him, his chubby-cheeked face turning red with blood as Aemond hits him with a punch.

Jace gets up and pushes Aemond to the ground and then the four of them gang up on Aemond while he's still on the ground. You run and try to pull the first person you see in front of you, but Baela (lost in her anger) hits your nose with her elbow and you scream, feeling the blood run like a river through your lips.

You can barely see as Aemond stands up and takes down Rhaena, Baela, and Jace, grabbing Luke by the throat and picking up a rock from the ground.

"YOU WILL DIE SCREAMING IN FLAMES, JUST AS YOUR FATHER DID. BASTARDS!" Aemond almost growls, his face bloody and his eyes fierce.

“A-Aemond…” You whisper, horrified. Your heart goes cold, the pain in your nose is forgotten. Because he wouldn't...he wouldn't -

He could never...

But Aemond doesn't stop. Even when Luke counters that his father is alive, he only mocks his innocence, calling Jace 'Lord Strong'.

"Aemond, that's enough!" You're almost crying, your eyes burning. But you tirelessly repeats to yourself that Aemond is out of control, everything is happening very violently and he doesn't really mean it. It's just the heat of the moment.

But, as impossible as it may seem, everything gets worse.

Jace pulls out a dagger, offended by Aemond's words. Without backing down, Aemond pushes Luke away and Jace attacks him with the dagger. Aemond dodges and hits Jace in the head with the rock he had in his hands, knocking him to the ground. Even while Jace is on the ground, Aemond walks up to him with the stone - a grim expression on his face, indicating his cruel intent.

"AEMOND PLEASE NO!!" You try once again to get closer, but you are too far away to be able to act in time.

Jace, fallen and anticipating the worst from Aemond, grabs a quantity of sand between his fingers and throws it in his face and Luke screams as he slides the dagger blade across his face.

And that's it.

Fast and tragic.

A single blow and Aemond is lying on the ground, screaming in pain.

You would never be able to forget that scream.

You try to hold his shoulder and see what had happened, but you are pulled away by the commander of the King's Guard, who arrives at that exact moment.

When he pulls Aemond's face you cover your lips with your hands shaking to avoid screaming, tears finally running freely down your cheeks.

Everything is a blur to you after that. But the gravity of the situation does not go unnoticed, even in your limited and childish understanding.

There is a violent argument between the adults, accusations made and threats shouted.

You don't care about that, though. You only care about Aemond, who is bleeding and writhing in pain as the Maester stitches up his wound. You cry when the old man informs, in an apogeic and wise voice, that Aemond's eye had been lost forever.

Maybe it's the knowledge that he was physically harmed in an irreparable way that makes you step up and defend him in front of everyone, even though you know that he was just as much the cause and culprit of the feud as the others involved. You don't know if you believe yourself as you speak words of absolution for him and all the adults to hear. But you can't abandon him. Especially not when he needs you so much. It wouldn't be fair after all the times he came to your rescue, after all the times he was your helper and protector. You owe it to him.

In the end, however, your words on his behalf don't result in much — except sharp, hurt looks from your brothers and cousins.

The words of a ten-year-old girl make no difference between the loud voices of adults who are committed to hating each other.

You are not allowed to see Aemond that night, a guard is posted at your door to make sure that doesn't happen. And when morning comes, you and your family leave for Dragonstone, without being allowed a chance to say goodbye. You cry all the way home, the only witness to your pain is your dragon who emits sympathetic coos every now and then.

You don't know when you will see Aemond again, but you can only hope and pray that when it happens, he has recovered from the traumas of that night.

You are no longer a child when you see him again.

And much less him.

His hair is longer, more neat and perfectly aligned, falling like a silver waterfall down his back. His facial features have lost any and all boyish fat they once had; now defined and pointed lines mark the design of his face. A long, imposing nose, thicker eyebrows and heavy eyelashes, a sharp jaw and beautiful lips that seem permanently fixed in the same indifferent expression all the time. He's taller too. Much taller, you notice. Lean, defined muscles easily filling out his dark clothes.

And he's wearing an eye patch.

You know that your own figure has changed greatly since you last saw each other. A true lady worthy of your status. At the height of your beauty and grace. Your physical attributes are as praised by people as your intelligence and education.

You are a young woman now.

He doesn't look at you, though. Which is a such disappointment for you.

It's been years since the two of you have seen each other and the longing in your chest is painful, but he doesn't look at you.

He doesn't look at you when you're in the Great Hall, deciding on Lucerys's title as Lord of the Tides. Even if you send him discreet, insecure glances from under your eyelashes every now and then, he's still looking straight ahead. Except, of course, when Lord Vaemond offends your mother by calling her a whore and (in a sadly unoriginal way, as if you've never heard that before) he accuses you and your brothers of being bastards. You think it might have been the only time he actually looked at you - quick and fleeting; a glimpse of curiosity that, as sudden as it appeared, disappeared.

Of course, what happens to Lord Vaemond after that makes you momentarily forget about Aemond's lack of attention. His blood running down the center of the throne room, so abundant that you have to lift the hem of your dress and take a few steps back to avoid getting dirty with it.

But despite how wrong and sick the notion is in your own mind, you can't feel any mercy. Quite the opposite. It's disturbingly satisfying to see that, for the first time in your years, someone has been punished after saying those words to you.

Even so, you twitch your lips and widen your eyes in a fake grimace of surprise. You're still a Princess and you're still a lady, and real ladies aren't pleased to see faces being cut in half.

That wasn't the highlight of the day, surprisingly.

Dinner would be.

Your brothers were overjoyed (it didn't even look like Lord Vaemond had been ripped in half that very day - you shared their selective forgetfulness). But their true joy came from the beautiful ladies at their side. The joy of a long-awaited and desired commitment that was finally being fulfilled.

Unlike you...

You are sure that, never in the history of humanity, have two people sitting next to each other seemed as far apart as you and Aemond at this moment.

It is poetically tragic.

He's there, less than an arm's length away from you. And yet, it's as if the two of you aren't even on the same territory, as if the years have separated you to such an extent that he doesn't even know how to recognize you anymore.

You wanted to start a talk. You've craved this every second since you arrived at the Red Keep, to be precise. But every time you worked up the courage to look up from your glass of wine, he was looking elsewhere - at Luke, at Jace, at literally anyone at the table; except you - expression sharp and serious in a way that sent shivers down your spine, posture straight and tense like a stretched bow about to release the arrow, exuding some kind of dangerous confidence that he definitely didn't have before.

He didn't look like the Aemond you knew. And every time you parted your lips to say something to him, you realized you didn't know what to say to this new Aemond. You didn't feel like you could say anything, actually. Where he was once an inviting warmth and your true safe haven to vent about anything, now it's as if the icy walls around him repress you and keep you at bay.

You don't think it could get any worse.

But guess what? You were wrong.

The crystal of the glass is barely resting on your lower lip when you see a servant enter with yet another tray. A roast pig resting at the base of it.

You’re almost afraid to look at Aemond. You're almost afraid to look at Luke. Instead, you finish pushing the crimson liquid into your lips, swallowing with some difficulty. From the corner of your eye you see the silent interaction between Aemond and Luke, your breathing already coming more quickly in a kind of bad intuition, and when you hear a sudden punch on the table it is impossible to control the small startled jump of your own body.

"Final tribute."

The glass is still close to your lips when Aemond raises his in a toast and you, in a delusional and foolishly hopeful moment that this could be anything other than a complete disaster, decide to keep your glass raised as he speaks.

"The health of my nephews and my niece." You lift your head when you hear his voice and feel the pulse of the sudden movement deep in your skull. He was finally talking to you - well, not to you. About you. It's already something. "Jace. Luke. Joffrey...Y/n." Your stupid, foolish heart quickens in response to your name falling from his lips and you dare to feel something almost forbidden in the tragic painting that is your life.

Hope.

"Each of them handsome, wise..." He pauses, meaningful and deep enough to make everyone at the table straighten their posture in anticipation. Even though nothing in his tone indicates truly vile intentions, you suddenly feel like you can't breathe anymore - because you know, you know. You know exactly what's coming next. Your hand, suddenly trembling, lowers the wine glass to the table with painful slowness, the real meaning of the situation falling on your shoulders and pulling you down like the turbulent waves of the sea. Your eyes start to water, because the feeling in your chest isn't good at all. This can't be good.

He looks at you, and you know he sees the barely contained tears in your gaze, the unspoken plea of desperation on your lips, the shadow of hurt and vulnerability taking over your features. You know he sees, because his single lavender eye glows subtly in the candlelight and his own confident expression falters for a few seconds into something softer. Long enough for you to see little fragmented pieces of the boy you used to know.

It's enough to rekindle a flame (albeit tiny) of faith in your chest.

Of course he wouldn't do that. You were being foolish to assume that Aemond would purposely do something like that to you, knowing how much it would hurt you.

He wouldn't...

"Strong." He pronounces your sentence of pain, looking away from you and closing his expression like a well-fortified siege.

Something slippery and terrible suddenly grabs your heart, and it beats faster. More painful. You swallow the prickly ball down your throat, but you vaguely registers in your mind that you're honestly surprised you hadn't seen this coming from the start. Once the shock of it all wears off, you'll probably realize that this day, this exact moment in your life, was always inevitable.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these four strong siblings.” He emphasizes when he finishes the toast, as if he hadn't already made his insinuation clear beforehand.

You can't take your eyes off your glass of wine placed on the table, you can't spy on other people's reactions. You simply can't deal with anyone else's feelings right now but your own. Dread fully sets in now, your gut twisting around the arteries that supply blood to your heart, a sharp pain in your nose and eyes.

You didn't expect that.

You definitely didn't expect that from him.

Small attacks of panic course through your veins; you want to get up and run out the front door, bend over and rest your palms on your thighs and learn to breathe again.

You can't believe this is happening.

The word itself and its real meaning is not what terrifies you. You've heard it enough times to learn not to let it get the best of you. It's sad, but it's the kind of thing you've learned to ignore after many years of pain.

That's not what hurts you.

It's the fact that it came from him.

Aemond, probably more than anyone at this table, knows how much you suffered in your childhood because of jokes like that; because of spiteful whispers about bastardy and illegitimacy, about cruel shoving and taunts from children - and even from adults; about disdainful treatment and sick looks. He comforted you countless times after words and actions like these hurt and humiliated you. You opened your heart to him about every vulnerable and weak spot it touched inside you.

And yet he used it against you.

You suppress your panic, swallowing once again and closing your eyes, curling your fingers into tight fists as you try to breathe slowly to calm yourself.

In your mind it seems like a long time has passed, but you know it all happened in the space of seconds.

The table is still dead silent after his words, everyone having their own internal reaction to what was said. But you don't wait, you can't take it anymore. With a loud, annoying scrape of wood on the floor, you push your chair back and stand up, making everyone at the table look at you. Including Aemond, who is still standing in the same position. You hold back the tears as best you can as you lift your head in the most nonchalant expression you can muster at the moment.

"Excuse me, please, I'm not feeling well."

Although respect required, you don't wait for anyone's response before leaving, hurried steps taking you towards some place you don't know where it is - you just know you want to be as far away from there as possible.

You pass guards on their watch, ignoring the curious looks they give you as they see your flushed, tear-stained face and the strands of your hair starting to get out of line with the way you're basically running through the halls.

It's hard to breathe like this. Your heart refuses to slow down, galloping wildly in your ribs.

It's your fault, after all. All those years of longing for the reencounter, believing in the ridiculous notion that nothing had changed, that the two of you could just pick up where you left off - as if the years apart had never existed.

Everything had changed, and even though sometimes it was hard to face reality, you still hated how you couldn't realize it before.

Suddenly a hand closes over his lips and muffles your frightened scream, at the same time that two guards appear at the beginning of the hallway. You're pulled back until your back hits the wall, a tall body covering yours as the hand remains over your mouth.

The lighting from the torches is soft in this part of the castle and it takes you a few seconds to identify Aemond in front of you, his body intimately pressing yours against the cold wall, making you sigh and widen your eyes at his boldness. You almost scream again, your fingers going to his wrist to release the grip on your mouth. But he puts his index finger to his lips, indicating that you should be silent.

You squint your eyes, even more irritated. But you know he's right, the guards walk calmly down the hallway, talking about things you don't care to understand - but any sound you make and they would find you. And by the gods, you didn't want to be found in this position with Aemond.

When he notices that you've relaxed under his touch, Aemond slides his hand from your mouth, but he doesn't make any move to put some distance between your bodies, and as much as you're angry and deeply hurt, it's impossible to stop your cheeks from burning with the disturbing proximity. You turn your head to the side, unable to look at him any longer, but his breath fanning the strands of hair near your ear doesn't help your embarrassment.

You already knew the sound of Aemond's heartbeat. You became familiar with his breathing pattern, with the way his heart beat faster as the two of you shared hugs in the past. You, fleetingly and unintentionally, have already known Aemond's scent; his skin tone in the dim light of the library, the glow of his lavender gaze over the embers of the flames.

But you had never been pressed against Aemond like this, the rise and fall of his breath penetrating your own body through your clothes. Until now, you had never been fully immersed in his scent, feeling his white hair gently brushing your face, his breath fanning your face.

You had never been so close to him in a context that wasn't purely meant for childlike comfort and friendliness.

With the sound of your hearts beating so loudly as the guards' footsteps get closer, you're almost certain that the two will be found. Both are motionless, squeezed into this wall, with only a pillar to keep you out of sight and Aemond's dark clothes to disguise you in the shadows. And you want to hate him, gods you really do, but the heat of his body so close to yours is making your eyes water once again and your hands sweat.

You look at each other in silence as the men continue walking down the hallway. There's an almost menacing glow in his lilac gaze, but there's also a burning heat that makes the fire glow in your stomach, makes your breath hitch and your skin tingle as you let the hurt and longing take over your body.

This needs to end.

You wait long enough to be sure the guards have turned the corner of the long hallway, and not a second too long.

Your hands push his chest hard, making him take a few steps back.

“Y/n. I-"

“Why did you follow me, Aemond? To make another joke at my expense? Please don't bother. Have a good night." You almost growl as you turn towards the hallway, although you're keeping your tone low. You hear a low tired huff leave his lips before he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards a door further away.

"What? What's your problem? Let me go!" You wriggle your hand, trying to escape his grip, but he keeps firm pressure on your skin.

Aemond pushes you into the small reading room and you feel your throat tighten as he turns to lock the door. The click of the bolt sliding into place lingers in the room as he slowly turns to face you.

The two of you maintain eye contact for what seems like an eternity as the moonlight streams in through the window. How could you not have spoken or seen each other all these years? You can't even remember what it's like to not be in the presence of the Dragon Prince; even though now the power he exudes both seduces and terrifies you.

“I hope you're not trying to find a way to apologize. Because I won’t forgive you,” you manage to say hastily, preparing to keep all walls up against this man.

"I know." He says, as calm and serious as before. "I betrayed your trust. I would not deserve your forgiveness even if you freely gave it to me."

You click your tongue and look away, subtly looking up in an attempt to control the renewed urge to cry.

“So what are you doing here? Why did you have to follow me and bring me here?" You ask after a few seconds of silence, as you gesture to the surrounding room; almost empty of furniture except for the bookshelf and a comfortable armchair near a study table, an unlit fireplace on the far wall. Your hair falling over your shoulder as you turn to look around.

"Would you believe me if I said it's because you look even more beautiful like this, in the moonlight and because I want you away from everyone else, just for myself?" he speaks slowly, as if he isn't stabbing a sharp dagger through your chest with every word.

Or will you be the one running towards the blade of his dagger? You're not sure anymore.

"Y-you can't just get back into my good graces with any charm, Aemond —" You retort, with red cheeks and even more teary eyes. The gallop of your heart makes it difficult to remain still under that penetrating violet gaze. It's not like talking to a boy anymore, like you remember it being. Aemond is a man now. His gaze caresses your body once; settling on your face with a disturbing intensity. He can probably hear your furious, traitorous heartbeat as clearly as he can see your rapid breathing. "Let me go. I really don't want to talk to you right now." You ask softly as a tear runs down your cheek.

"I can't do it." Is all he says, stepping to the side as you step forward, blocking your exit.

"Why?" More tears followed the first and you were transported back to the dinner table. "Why? If it was so easy for you to say things that would hurt me, why can't you just leave me alone now?"

“Because it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy to say that about you. I let myself get carried away by…” He doesn’t continue with the reasoning, but some of his calm and collected appearance is cracking before your eyes. “Y/n, I’m selfish. I've always been. I can't lose you, not again. Not ever again."

You laugh, dry and dull, painful.

"You have luck." There is barely a hint of passion or distorted feeling in your words. Just the oppressive air of disappointment. "You have luck that I'm looking at you right now. That I can look at you. You insult me and then say you can't let me go? I can't believe you, Aemond."

Aemond's breathing is hoarse as he exhales.

"I didn't...I should never have said that. Not about you. Never about you. Your look at me across the table - I can't stop thinking about it. I hate that I hurt you like that."

A breath catches in your chest.

He curls his hands into tight fists at his sides, but says nothing more. Through his own tears, he is a little confused around the edges. His words hit you straight in the heart, but you dare not hope. Not with the way everything went so wrong between the two of you.

"You hurt me, Aemond. I never thought you, of all people, would do that to me. I-I stood by you all those years. I stood up for you that night. I turned my back on my own brothers to be by your side and you hurt me like that. What were you thinking?" You sniffle, wiping the tears from your left cheek with your fingertips. Aemond takes a deep breath, reaching for you, but you flinch away from his touch with a hurt look. He swallows hard.

"I wasn't." He follows your delicate movements with his gaze as you try to clean your face. "I wasn't thinking."

You let out a tired sigh and wrap your arms around yourself looking at your feet, the exhaustion of the day combined with the emotional turmoil of the reunion with Aemond and the conversation between the two of you is completely draining you. "What do you want from me, Aemond?"

He approaches slowly, sliding his fingertips under your chin - tentatively, just probing if you'd allow contact this time, and when he notices you don't push him away, he gives you a gentle push up. He waits patiently until you give in to the pressure of his fingers and meet his one eye.

"I won't apologize for what I said to your brothers. I don't regret it. The only thing I regret is getting you directly involved and hurting you feelings during it." You snort at the ambiguity of his words and try to force your face away from his hold, but he grabs your jaw and keeps you still, looking at him. "Let me show you how sorry I am for hurting you. That's all I want."

You grab his wrist and part your lips, ready to push him away - physically and verbally. But Aemond snuggles suddenly closer to you to press his nose into your neck and inhale deeply. The words die in your throat and you shudder with a surprised gasp, gripping your fingers tighter around his wrist, arching your back like a cat as his other hand slowly travels up your waist, rubbing small circles over your dress before his lips leave a chaste kiss on the curve of your tear-damp cheek. “Y/n,” he whispers.

He repeats as his nose traces the roundness of your cheek, the curve of your neck, his breath fanning into your ear. The presence of him as a whole smelling of leather and smoke, plus something blissfully familiar like fresh mint leaves, wrapping around your senses like a comfortable blanket on a cold day. He continues chanting your name as his lips find the pulse in your neck, while his slightly sharp canines scrape your skin like the soft kiss of the morning breeze. He doesn't stop as his hand slides down your waist, fingers molding the curve of your hips, digging into your soft flesh; he keeps repeating your name over and over as he perfectly molds his tall body against yours.

This is so intimate. Intimate like you've never been with anyone. You freeze. Aemond lifts his head to look at you, still holding you by your waist and chin.

"Please?" he asks softly.

You drop your back against the wall as everything you've been holding onto for years seems to wash away like a wave hitting the shore. The longing. Misplaced anger. The desire to be close. Love. It's the first time you allow yourself to fully understand the depth of your new feelings for him and how desperately you've missed him since he left.

This shouldn't be happening. It's not something you've planned or considered. For years you waited for this moment, you waited to reconnect with him. You never thought the bond between you two would be anything more than that.

But here, now...

Is right. That's where you should be. It's scary how well you fit into the new reality.

You can only nod, the words having left your body. You feel like sugar, heated slowly in a pan until it melts and darkens, then stirred and turned into melted caramel. Aemond holds your tear-stained face, bringing his mouth to the outer corner of your eye.

"Yes?" You feel his lips brush against your damp lashes as he asks.

“Y-yes,” you respond in a low voice and dry throat. Aemond leaves a delicate kiss there and moves to the space above your eyebrows.

"So, will you let me make it up to you?" his lips slide across your forehead and his nose nuzzles your hair.

“Yeah,” you sniffle as he leaves another kiss.

You close your eyes and hum softly when his lips touch the bridge of your nose, then your eyelid. Then the other eyelid. Your lips are slightly parted as his leave a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. He slowly leans over you until your foreheads touch, making you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He sounds a little out of breath when he whispers this.

“Please, Aemond,” you beg, not knowing how much you want this until this very moment, hands clenching into his leather shirt.

His thumb frees your lower lip and his fingers slowly slide along the contour of your ear until they tangle in the strands of hair at the back of your neck. And then his mouth is on yours.

Gods. His lips are soft, like the fluffy pillows on your bed. It's the last coherent thought you have as Aemond presses his wet mouth against yours again and again in a gentle, experimental rhythm that quickly becomes more determined, more urgent as you kiss him back. He makes short, delicious grunts that shoot like flares of fire to your core, a constant buzz of excitement being the only sound in your melting brain as you grip his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

His fingers delve into your hair, caressing your scalp and pushing your head back to deepen the kiss. You gasp and Aemond takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth. You moan shamefully and lewdly, tasting the clean, fresh taste of his saliva as he slides his tongue along yours before sucking on your bottom lip in slow tugs.

“Ah- Aem”, you moan the childhood nickname between rapid breaths, without even thinking straight, but the muffled and wild sound he releases in your swollen lips proves how much he likes it, pushing you harder against the wall as he plunders your mouth with his tongue again, drinking from you with the reverence of a starving man who has found his oasis. You're floating and somehow sinking, breathing deeply through your nose, completely enveloped by the heat of Aemond's mouth.

In a figurative sense — you're flooded with the feeling of wanting this to happen all the time from now on — you could really get used to having Aemond's warm lips sliding over yours and his hand gripping your waist like this.

In the literal sense, however, you don't think that you'll ever be able to get used to this feeling.

How could you, when his mouth is so precise and so dominant on yours, exerting the most delicious pressure on your lower lip? When it feels like his warm palm is a magnet that finds streams of fire deep within you and draws them to the surface of your skin? When the way he drives you into his body feels nothing short of proprietary, but in an incredibly hot way – a way that, instead of raising your pride for independence, neutralizes all your qualms and just excites you?

Because, damn, you really��are excited now – a fact you can feel between your legs with every passing second.

I want him, I want him, I want him, you think in a rhythm that matches the beat of your heart.

With one last wet touch to your lips, Aemond breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours. The sudden absence draws from you an involuntary sigh and then an irrational wave of disappointment and anger. You're mad at him for stopping kissing you, and you're mad at yourself for wanting his touch so much to react this way.

Your cheeks are burning. You feel like a mess of frustrated desires, right there in that abandoned reading room. Yet Aemond appears as calm, cool, and collected as you've ever seen him. Except for the slightly altered breathing.

Damn him.

"Is – is that all?" You stutter, out of breath and with a cute frown, “if that’s how you intended to show you’re sorry, you didn’t convince me.” The dismissive tone completely missed the mark as your voice came out choppy and fragile, but Aemond smiled anyway, a versatile smile that started out being adorable, then hopeful, and then so wicked that you think your heart (and, hmm, other parts of you ) may explode.

"You're absolutely right. Besides, you've been such a good girl. You deserve a little gift, right?"

Despite your false bravado, you didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded once, your chest warming at the praise. He gave your waist a tight grip and you bit your lip, feeling the heat from your face travel down to your neck as well. You watch with wide eyes as he slowly walks away and sits down in the comfortable armchair near the study table, a large hand patting his own thigh as he smiles softly.

“Come here, little bug,” he purrs your childhood nickname in that tone that’s still unfamiliar but decidedly masculine, and you almost faint. You always hated that nickname. But gods, hearing that again in his warm, husky voice makes something unholy course through your veins and your legs start to shake for a completely different reason than the anger from earlier in the night.

Is this some kind of dream? This really couldn't be happening, right? This behavior is far from what is appropriate or acceptable, but how could you resist? He's elegant, charming, powerful, intelligent - and on top of all that, he's drop-dead gorgeous.

How in the name of the gods could you resist?

You freeze for just a few seconds, unable to move in front of him. But after a moment, your legs begin to move on their own, pulling you closer and closer to Aemond's personal space. When you're within his reach, he gently grabs you by the waist and pulls you down until you're fully straddling him.

“A-Aemond,” you try, your body shaking with anxiety and sudden excitement. Everything is happening so quickly and your mind is struggling to keep up - even though your body is basically begging for more.

Your lips opens and you dare to meet his gaze once again. That eye patch. You're sure that the recently reestablished relationship between the two of you is still too fragile for you to ask him to take it off - even if you really want to. He'll show you the damage from that night when he's ready, you know that. So instead of asking for it, you focus on his single lavender eye, noticing a new glow there, a giddiness that's almost childlike, as well as affection.

Then, he leaned in and kissed you once more. His eye shine with excitement as yours closes, and he moans softly against your lips, sending more shivers through your body. You melt into the kiss, just like before, your body molding to his as his tongue probes your bottom lip. You open your mouth, allowing him access, his tongue brushing against yours.

That's when things suddenly changes.

He growls sharply and grips you tighter, both hands flat on your back holding your body against his as he pushes your hips down in a single thrust. You let out a sharp scream into his mouth when you feel his warm, hard erection between his legs. Your eyes roll slightly at the sensation, his hungry lips devouring you, releasing moans into your mouth each time the head of his covered length brushes against your core.

“Oh, oh,” you moan when he finally pulls away and you can breathe, one hand on your heaving chest - but rolling your hips instinctively, making him moan louder than before.

“Yeah, my sweet girl,” he murmurs deeply, voice hoarse from his own arousal. A shudder runs down your spine and you squirm in his lap, clenching your teeth to stop yourself from letting out an undignified moan. But Aemond notices anyway, a devious smile forming on his lips, flushed and swollen from previous kisses. “You like the sound of my voice, don’t you?”

Well, apparently there was no hiding it. You blush and nod softly, small hands curling around the back of his neck as your body moves on pure instinct, rolling your hips into his. The one-eyed prince smiles again and leans towards your ear, his breath brushing your earlobe. You moan as he starts to whisper devilishly in your ear.

“All these years I thought about you, you know. How would you be; your personality, your manners, your appearance. I always knew you would turn out to be a stunning woman." As he speaks, you pant and squirm uneasily, feeling his wet lips sliding erotically across your ear at every word. "There are so many things I want to do with you, Y/n...I want to see you writhe beneath me as I take what has always been mine. I want to hear you scream when I bury my tongue in that sweet pussy. I want to feel your throat squeezing my dick while I fuck your face...”

You do not answer. There are no coherent words that can leave your lips and your mind hazy at this moment. Instead, you roll your eyes and moan, sinking once again onto his pulsing length. Friction is good, but disturbingly insufficient. And maybe Aemond knows this, because in the next movement he's pressing his palm against your sternum and lifting you a little, so that his other hand can snake between your bodies.

The dress gets in the way a little and you blink, confused, but before you can question his movement, the same hand dribbles the volume of your skirt and enters the barriers of your underwear in a skillful glide, brushing the lips of your intimacy. You gasp and throw your head back, supported by his hand on your back. You close your eyes as his fingers stroke your shamefully wet slit and you bite your lip when he parts your lips and presses two fingers against your swollen clit.

You had touched yourself intimately before, of course. But in that moment, you feel as if you are experiencing the sensation for the first time in your life. His fingers are thicker and rougher than yours, pinching and teasing your core in a way you've never done before. He massages your clit in slow circular motions, and the electrifying jolts of pleasure it sends up your spine make it impossible for you to stay still. Your nails dig into the soft flesh at the back of his neck and your moans echo through the abandoned room - and as the speed of his caresses increases, so does your pleasure.

There's a burning pang of discomfort as the same two fingers sink into your tight heat, sliding in gently with the aid of your own wet arousal. The sensation is new and you can't help the way your body tenses in response, your teeth biting down hard on your bottom lip. But Aemond kisses your cheek affectionately, giving you a few seconds to get used to the width of his fingers stretching your walls.

"That's it, little bug. Relax for me, you can do it." He murmurs as he feels you relax your limbs and sink your body into his fingers with a shaky sigh, happily accepting the invasion and already yearning for more.

Your hips twitch against his fingers as he slowly pushes them into your core. A thumb running through your folds before pressing hard against your clit. A guttural moan escapes your lips the moment your hand grips the roots of his hair tightly, pulling at the softness of his silver strands until he's grunting at the sensation. The more you pant, the faster his fingers work.

By now his length is impossibly harder and warmer against your thigh, and every time you tug on his hair you feel his cock pulsing in response. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, your moans and your breasts press against the solid muscle of his chest, begging for more of his touches.

“Aem,” you say in low, panting breaths just below his earlobe.

“Y/n,” he growls into your skin.

“Give me more of you, please,” your request is greedy and raw.

He pulls his fingers out of you (the wet sound makes your head spin), reaching out and grabbing a fistful of your hair to expose your neck. Aemond drags his tongue from your collarbone to your chin, tasting the sweetness of your skin. The opposite hand, still wet with your juices, wanders up your body to your breasts hidden by the dress, grabbing your left breast so hard that you gasp in surprise at the pain amidst the waves of pleasure.

It's like the most vivid fire in your veins.

“Get up and take off your underwear.”

You push his thighs for support, standing even though your legs are wobbly, sliding your hands up the skirt of your dress. With a quick movement, you pull your underwear off, letting the fabric slide to the floor. Now you're wearing just the long stockings above your knees underneath your dress, the heavy fabric of the skirt clinging to your hands as you keep your intimacy hidden.

"Lift that up so I can see you, love."

His penetrating violet gaze remains fixed on yours; you feel the blush spread from your cheeks to your breasts with his request. But both are too far gone to stop now. With a deep breath, you pull the skirt of your dress up, keeping the fabric secured above your waist as Aemond looks at you.

The hunger in his expression almost disturbs you. The feeling of his gaze trailing up the length of your stockings to the apex of your thighs is like a physical touch. You shudder and look away when you feel him looking directly at your pussy.

"You're fucking perfect. So beautiful." Is all he says, his voice lower than before. Even though his words make you blush, you keep your gaze on the floor for the next few seconds.

"Look at me, babe." He hums, and you can almost feel a small mischievous smile in his voice. "Don't you want to see what you do to me?"

This piques your curiosity and you look at him shyly from under your eyelashes, almost choking when you notice his fingers undoing the fly of his pants. Your breath seems to die in your chest as time passes slowly, his long, pale fingers pulling the waistband of his pants down, grabbing his length and gently lifting it out of the fabric.

Vaguely, you're somewhat aware that your gaze is wide and your lips are parted, but you can't help it. The sight of his long, thick cock trapped between his fingers is almost enough to make you reel, the veins running down his length, the head almost purple and pre-cum leaking from the tip. Your excitement seems to increase tenfold as you watch him run his thumb over the rounded head, spreading all that wetness along his length. He pushes his hand further down and massages his balls still hidden inside his pants.

Your heart pounds, your clit throbs and your brain stops working.

His hand glides along the seam of his cock again, from base to tip, before letting his length rest against the leather of the bottom of his shirt, though you can see how he bounces slightly under the tension of the tight muscle in his belly. “Come take what you need from me, bug.”

You take a deep breath, feeling your legs soften with each step, the moisture that was once contained in your underwear starting to slide down your inner thigh. You move forward to straddle him, Aemond reaching down to your sides to help you adjust, the fabric of your skirt bunched around your waist. He smooths the length of your socks, from the heel to your thighs - squeezing the soft flesh while leaving a gentle, encouraging kiss on your lips.

With great anticipation, you lower yourself onto him, pressing your pussy to the underside of the cock he had so beautifully presented to you. You may feel yourself slipping slightly as the wetness gushes over your folds and all over the silky skin of his penis.

He groans. "You're so soft and wet for me, baby."

“Yeah?” you moan, closing your eyes at the sensation. You made a small movement of your hips forward and felt your clit press against his hardness. You're already shaking. Your pussy is already swollen and pulsating. It will take almost nothing to completely undo you.

You begin to move against him, rocking your hips, following the gratifying bliss that comes with each press of your bud against him. His large hands roam your waist, steadying you so you don't sway to the side, but allowing you the freedom to move as you see fit. You set your own pace, alternating between slow and fast movements, rocking and pressing into him to smother your sex. Your breathing becomes more frantic and when you open your teary eyes, you can see his too.

His dusty cheeks with a soft blush, his half-closed violet gaze, his long eyelashes almost touching his cheek, that eye patch increasing his dark aura, the sharp lines of his jaw, his parted lips...

Your fingers twist in his hair like a vise and Aemond moans your name like a prayer.

His grip moves to the back of your knee, adjusting your leg in a way that keeps you more open for him and your back arches as the searing heat of his cock head pokes your clit again. The friction is so intense and fierce that you perfectly feel every ridge and jagged line of veins down the length of his cock and you want more, more, more, until your bones crack and crumble and burn, until you are nothing but ash scattering Aemond's skin.

"One day...soon...I'm going to take your purity for myself. My cock will be buried so deep inside that pussy that you'll feel me here..." He presses a spot on your belly as he speaks, voice broken and hoarse, sighing faster and faster every second. "I'm going to fuck you every day, every night, in every fucking corner inside and outside this castle."

A cry leaves your throat and you pulse on Aemond's cock.

“There we go, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his lips just whispering against yours when you actually want to take whatever he gives you. You arch again and pull him closer, gyrate your hips insistently, wildly, feverishly, and allow yourself to moan so loudly that the sound settles on the stone walls around you. Aemond stretches his lips into an unhinged and truly frightening smile, wrapping a hand around your throat to pull you in until all you can see, feel, and smell is him. Only him.

He brushes your pussy with precise, firm strokes, meeting your clit with the soft head of his cock and you rub your folds faster and faster with each thrust, all the while moaning his name like it's the only word you knows: Aemond, Aemond, Aemond...

“Tell me,” he breathes into your mouth. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, then dips in to taste his name in your sighs. “Tell me, Y/n, will you truly be mine this time? Will you stay with me until the end?”

You whimper and shake your head as best you can while you're held in your throat by his fingers, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks.

"P-please, Aemond...please, we will stay together. Please, that's all I want. I need, I need-"

He pulls you by the throat, wanting you to face him. Your lips drift towards his and he hums in approval, parting his lips to let your tongue meet his. Every kiss and every touch, even the smell of his skin, the taste of his tongue, and the little hums and moans from deep in his chest, go straight down your spine and into your groin. You pull away, a trail of saliva forming from his tongue to yours. You look between your bodies and notice his head appearing from below your waist. The slit glistening with precum.

It's deliciously profane.

When you look back up, his gaze is locked on yours, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure. He thrusts even harder somehow, tilting his hips so the head of his cock rubs frantically against your clit and makes you shiver. You hold the back of his neck tighter, moaning.

"Aem...Aemond, I'll...oh-"

“Yeah, fuck,” he whispers against your lips. “That’s it my baby, make love to me. Feel good with me. Come on."

You feel the pleasure building beneath your belly, on your clit, on your nipples. And then you break. Your stomach tightens like a board and your body recoils as the pleasure washes over you. Warm white light explodes in front of your eyes and scatters into colorful dots. You scream and cry, shaking your head. Your pussy squeezing around nothing. Aemond puts his arm under your waist and pushes you even faster; eager to milk himself while you are still tense and sensitive from the orgasm. The pleasure starts to get more raw, scorching like an electric shock. A gradient from pleasure to pain. It's almost uncomfortable and you cry as you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

“I know, baby, I know, just hold on. Just be patient with me. I’m so close,” he grunts, muscles tense with euphoria. “I’m so close, please let me cum.”

His jaw clenches and you feel a burst of heat against you. His hips stutter helplessly from the force of his orgasm. And then he finally stops. He stays still. His harsh grunts turn into soft moans and heavy breathing and you feel even more sticky and wet at the evidence of his cum dripping between your legs.

(It's scary how intense the thought of how much you'd rather it were inside you.)

Together you both stay in that boneless, contented trance; your minds going into a reverie. His cock stays nestled against your folds for a few moments, but now it feels like a permanent part of you. Even as he slowly pulls away, you still feel him against your skin. The feeling of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the weight and thickness of his cock as it lived between the swollen lips of your pussy, feels less like a memory and more like a phantom sensation that will last as long as you let it.

You’re almost dozing off when you feel a gentle kiss on your sweaty cheek, his breath on your ear.

"And then, would you say I have adequately redeemed myself?" There's a touch of urgency to his question, even though he tries to sound amused and dismissive - like he really wants your approval, after all.

You smile tiredly against the crook of his neck before lifting your head, meeting his beautiful violet gaze once again. He's also a little sweaty, his silver hair is disheveled from where you squeezed him, and his cheeks are still a little flushed. But he seems more relaxed now than at any time since you arrived at the Red Keep and saw him for the first time.

“Hmm…” You hum, pretending to think about it as you frown and bring your index finger to your lips.

Aemond rolls his eye and you have two seconds to smile at this before he's grabbing your waist and tickling your belly, hitting the same sensitive spots on your flesh as when you were a child, as if no time had passed.

"Aem! Wait- that's not fair!" You laugh and squirm, throwing your head back as your body shakes with each laugh.

"Tell me what I want to hear and I'll stop." He says, calm and collected, but you can hear the amusement in his voice.

"Ah, okay, okay, okay..." You say breathlessly, cheeks red for a completely different reason this time, the corners of your lips hurting from laughing so hard. "You redeemed yourself, completely. I was joking. I swear!"

Obviously satisfied with your response, he loosens his grip on your stomach, letting you breathe normally. You're still smiling, though, feeling the phantom effects of his tickle attack. He looks at you with his head up and his face calm, a small smile on the corner of his lips. He's so different from the boy you knew, physical and emotional, you know it will take a while to get used to this new Aemond. But what he just did made you sure that there was still something of the old Aem there - even if it was buried deep beneath his new self.

"Let's get married. I'm going to ask father tonight." He says, so confident and assured that it makes something in your heart soften and open like the petals of a flower. The smile on your lips diminishes to something softer and more sincere, emotional even, and you tuck a few strands of his hair behind his ear.

"Really? You know, my brothers won't like it very much." You whisper teasingly, gaze shining and stomach twisting in gleeful anticipation.

Aemond's smile stretches a little wider, his gaze flickering to something darker.

"I'm counting on it."

You snort, but you can't hold back your smile as you nuzzle your head into his neck once again. The heat of satisfaction blooms even more when you feel Aemond kiss your hairline. With just a little adjustment, you lean back against his chest and close your eyes, happy to be with him like this for a moment. Soon you both will have to get up and go to your respective chambers.

You will talk more about everything that was said and done here when the morning comes, but it is not morning yet. Then you sigh and hold this sweet moment in your arms like a precious jewel.

Like a second chance.

Tagging: @croatianprincess @delilah1990 @fan-goddess @hanihoney88 @supmymainhuman @navyblue-eternity @gothicxs @toodlesxcuddles @loving-enemy @ostricx @azperja @echos-muses @thedamewithabook @schniiipsel @snowprincesa1 @nezzlysixx @maximizedrhythms @mavieemav @ammo23 @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @hotdsworld @darylandbethfanforever9 @malfoytargaryen @qyoquixote @pick95 @moonxhunt @tired-ninfa @fcbformulaeri @daydreamy-me @vyctorya @lovelymoonkiid @babyblue711 @zondereleutheromania @spookymicrowave @wintrr13 @namelesslosers @chainsawangel @beautbuck @arcielee @ratfromdeepspace @brianochka @greenowlfactif @qyburnsghost @rwdkarla @dontforgetoctober3rd @violetexpress1

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader

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targrayenbunny · 3 months

Text

Appearances (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x little sister • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession, mention of arranged engagements ]

[ description: All Aemond cares about is the recognition and attention of his younger sister, but she seems to ignore him and shun him, driving him to an ever-increasing state of withdrawal and dark, grim agony. Something inside him snaps when his grandsire announces that it is time to marry her off. Sexual tension, understatements due to lack of communication, obsession. ]

My other works: Masterlist

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It seemed to him, though because of this his throat squeezed in desperation and rage, that his little sister was simply afraid of him. He couldn't explain her behaviour otherwise, the way she quickly looked away, meekly lowering her eyelids adorned with her long, dark lashes, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

She was the only one who didn't have their pearly white hair, the only one who didn't have the eye colour due to the gods.

Even when she witnessed his duels with Criston Cole, when she could see how much he had changed, how skilful he was in wielding his sword, defeating him again and again, all around him the applause full of admiration and appreciation, she did not congratulate him, she turned and left the square, no longer bestowing even a single glance on him.

Confronted again with her wordless rejection, he thought in the back of his head that she was disgustingly ordinary with her dark hair and eyes inherited from their mother, that she could be the daughter of some commoner walking up to his knees in the mud feeding his pigs.

However, his great annoyance usually lasted only a moment, after which he went back to his state of despair.

He didn't follow her, wanting to spare himself this humiliation and discomfort, feeling his heart twitching in rage, in shame that he so desperately desired her attention, a few words of recognition, one warm look.

He saw her one morning through the window speaking to her servant, gesturing vigorously and laughing pearly, joyfully, and he thought with regret that she was consorting with people who might take advantage of her, who cared only about her position.

That if she were his he would protect her from them.

She would be safe.

She was so careless, innocent, wise and naïve at the same time, looking at him with those big dark eyes of hers when someone in her presence annoyed him, begging him with her gaze not to explode.

His tongue was like a blade, cutting anyone who approached him, she knew this and was afraid to open her mouth in front of him, imagining for sure how cruel his reaction would be.

He didn't know how to explain to her that he would never hurt her, his sweetest little sister, his greatest joy.

He watched from the distance like a cool, sinister shadow as her fingers intertwined with Helaena's, stretched out side by side on their armrests during supper, observed her leaning towards her with a sweet smile, whispering something tenderly, from which their older sister giggled quietly, there was something mythological in these scenes, making a shiver run down his spine.

He knew that they sometimes met in her chamber and even slept together, confiding in each other about their feminine affairs that were beyond his comprehension, however, he couldn't stop the feeling of burning jealousy that filled his chest when he thought of how he wished it was him she visited at night.

He thought then of how tender he would be towards her, how his arms would enclose her petite, delicate body in his tight, firm embrace, protecting her from anything that might frighten her.

He imagined how wonderful she would smell, her oils teasing his nostrils constantly, sweet and intense, looking at her figure seated next to him he felt the need to bite into her flesh like a ripe fruit.

He thought she would taste like a peach.

When at last they had finished their conversation and her beautiful, slender hand reached for her cup her gaze finally met his, her plump, glistening lips parted slightly, as if the intensity of his gaze frightened her, her breasts quivered in quick, shuddering breaths.

He felt what he saw in his breeches, his length all swollen, demanding her closeness.

Wanting to keep her attention on him he lifted the platter with her favourite dish, sweet cinnamon pie filled inside with apples, he saw that she blinked quickly, her cheeks flushed at the realisation that he knew she favoured them.

He watched her swallow with difficulty, her trembling hand set her goblet aside, his manhood throbbed hard when their fingers brushed in the air as she took the silver platter from him, she lowered her gaze, embarrassed, her sweet, soft lips parted to whisper a quiet, barely audible thank you.

He leaned back again, looking at the pleasing profile of her face, her long eyelashes gleaming under the warm candlelight, a drop of sweat on her skin shimmering like a small diamond ran down her neck.

Gods, how he craved her.

He wanted to touch her, stroke her shamelessly exposed back with his large hand, rough from holding the hilt of his sword, and dig his nubs into her warm, soft skin, with a subconscious gesture proving to whom she belonged, that she had been his right, his delight and his duty since she was born.

Why didn't she realize this?

He watched with a squeezed throat as she took a piece of pie into her mouth, the involuntary lick of her tongue with which she brushed her lower lip focused all his attention.

The thought that this fleshy lips could in the same way clench around his painfully swollen cock, suck it and squeeze it, barely able to fit it in with her sweet cry of effort.

He grunted, looking away, feeling his length twitching and pushing against the tight material of his breeches.

She didn't look at him again that evening, absorbed in a discussion with their mother and grandfather as he drank Dornish wine, staring dully ahead, its tart aftertaste melting on his tongue.

"I spoke to your mother about the importance of slowly deciding on a suitable candidate for your husband, my love." Began their grandsire with his eyebrow raised in satisfaction, directing his words to his younger sister, who froze in mid-motion, he saw that her hands, in an involuntary reflex of terror, clamped down on the material of her gown.

She remained silent.

"She's still too young, for god's sake." He hissed out feeling rage like a burning fire pulsing through his veins, he grew hot, took another quick, deep sip from his cup, an uncomfortable silence fell around him.

Otto grunted, turning with a creak of wood in his seat, his fingers stretched out and clenched into a fist on the table top in front of him, apparently wondering why such a sudden and aggressive reaction on his part.

"I understand that as an older brother you feel responsible for her safety, however, she is now of the right age and has begun to bleed, and that's why…"

"Father." Muttered their mother, looking at him pleadingly, clearly not wanting him to bring up such intimate and sensitive topics at the table, moreover in the presence of other men.

He saw out of the corner of his eye how his sister dropped her gaze, her dark eyes shining from the tears of shame that had gathered under her lids, her brows arched in pain.

If she had only asked him to marry her he would have done so at once, freed her from this laughable obligation that her marriage to some mere lord would be.

He felt his jaw clench at the thought that no one would ever love her as devotedly, dearly, warmly as he, her blood, her protector, her brother.

"In the coming months, we would like you to meet a few candidates we consider worthy of your hand." Concluded their grandfather, taking a deep sip of wine from his goblet, he felt rage filling his chest when he saw that his sister merely nodded her head, accepting her fate without a word of protest, looking down at her plate.

He got up from the table, bitter and furious, leaving the hall without a word, unable to look at her, once again letting his anger take over him, accusing her in his mind.

Her lack of reaction, her lack of opposition, when it was so obvious that her husband could only be him, him, him.

He walked into his chamber, undoing the buckles of his tunic, throwing it angrily to the ground, remaining in only his chemise and breeches. Although he did not usually do so, he reached for the wine jug and poured himself a full cup, grabbing it and sitting down with it in the chair by the fire, tilting his head back, letting out loud sigh.

He shuddered when he heard a quiet, tentative knock on his door, and ran his hand over his face, guessing it was his queen, as usual wanting to be his voice of reason, to come to him with her stoic calm, explaining to him why he had to accept the responsibilities that faced their family, including those standing before his sister.

He didn't feel like having this discussion, however, he acknowledged with reluctance that he couldn't dismiss his own mother.

"Come in." He said coolly, staring into the flames.

He heard the creak of the door opening and closing a moment later, glanced involuntarily over his shoulder and froze, feeling his heart stop in his throat at the sight of her, beautiful, teary-eyed, her face all flushed red with despair, her fleshy, plump lips parted in a hastened breath, her brow arched in pain.

"Lēkia (big brother)." She mumbled out with difficulty, choking on her own tears, he stood up at her words looking at her with eyes wide open in shock, driven by some sudden emotion, moved that she had come to him as he had always imagined she would, vulnerable and desperate, seeking refuge and a reassurance in his arms.

"Come closer, hāedar (little sister). Come." He whispered softly, extending his hand to her in a gesture of encouragement, and saw that she moved tentatively towards him, looking up at him with her wonderfully dark, large eyes, tear drops glittering on her lashes like little stars.

He parted his lips and swallowed loudly when her soft, warm hand touched his, thought with tenderness that compared to his she was so small, so fragile.

When he dared to lift his other hand to her cheek she twitched, wrinkling her eyebrows, breathing loudly, distrustful like a forest nymph who was afraid of a stranger's touch, simultaneously craving his closeness and fearing it.

He breathed quietly as she let his nubs touch and run over the wonderfully soft, firm skin of her pink cheek, her eyelids closed for a moment, a quiet, sweet sigh leaving her lips.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked in a calm, low, trembling voice, ashamed of how scared he was of her answer, of her rejection.

She looked at him surprised, her lips parted in astonishment as if she didn't know what to reply to his words, her quivering fingers touched his hand stroking her cheek.

"I fear your harsh judgment, brother. It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience." She muttered in shame, lowering her gaze, he felt a squeeze in his throat at her words, not believing what he heard, what she confessed to him.

I am afraid of your harsh judgment, brother.

It seems to me that my person often arouses your frustration and impatience.

How could she think so? Was his eternal desire, his suffering so expressed in his gaze, his facial expressions, his gestures?

Did she perceive his rage at the lack of her closeness as his constant displeasure at the sight of her?

He was horrified by how deep the misunderstanding reached, he didn't know what he should do to fix it now, to reverse it, he ran out of words that could describe what he felt.

How glad he was that she was standing before him now, that she trusted him, that he had adored her from the moment she came into the world, cherished her with a love that was warm, tender and devoted, that he believed she had been born to be his, his sweet joy, his beautiful little sister.

He swallowed loudly, parting her plump, fleshy lips with his thumb, looking at her in emotion, feeling a painful tightness in his throat.

"My sweet sister, where did these words come from? How could I feel anything but adoration towards you?" He asked softly, feeling her whole body quiver at his words, her mouth parted involuntarily, letting his thumb go deeper, between her puffy, sticky lips.

Something changed in her gaze, dreamy and warm, from which he felt heat in his chest and lower abdomen, her fingertips digging into the skin of his palm.

"Ivestragī umbagon issa (let me stay)." She whispered in a trembling, uncertain voice, and he felt his breath caught in his throat, his manhood throbbed aggressively in his breeches at the thought that she wanted to stay in his bed, in his embrace.

His surprised silence made her lower her gaze, ashamed, apparently panicking at the thought of what she had suggested, of how indecent it was, surely thinking that he would now despise her.

"Very well." He muttered quickly, not wanting her to leave his side.

She lifted her hopeful gaze to him and nodded, swallowing loudly, her cheeks pink with emotion. He rubbed his thumb over her wet skin and leaned over her placing a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead, her wonderful scent filling his lungs again.

He grasped her petite hand in his, guiding her towards his bed, sitting down on it with his face towards her, letting her stand over him and decide what would happen next, looking at her pleasant, girlish figure in front of him.

It seemed to him that she had no idea what they were doing, whether it was right, he could see thoughts and doubts running across her face, fears of what would happen if their mother found out.

"Come. Do not fret. Your big brother would never hurt you." He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, he was hot, his heart pounding like mad in his chest, he felt butterflies in his stomach, a sweet delight of satisfaction spread through his body.

His words emboldened her, she stepped closer to him, standing between his thighs, breathing loudly, he sighed and closed his eyes as she took his face in her soft hands, stroking it for a moment with gentle, slow movements that made his throat dry up, he felt with horror that his cock was completely hard, all swollen and throbbing.

In a gesture of desperation he snuggled into her abdomen, clasping his large hands on her back, he heard her surprised gasp, her hands froze upwards for a moment before they began in a soft, calm motion to stroke his head as if he were a small child.

He closed his eyes, snuggling into her body, the material of her gown pleasantly delicate and soft, he could feel her flesh throbbing from beneath it, her womb that could swell with his inheritance, his dragon seed that could root deep inside her if only she noticed his devotion and love, if only she understood that they had always been destined for each other.

He clenched his fingers tighter on the material of her gown when he felt her lean in, enclosing him in her embrace, his face locked between her shoulders, her womb and her breasts, enveloping him in her warmth, her hands running down his back with such tenderness and gentleness that he closed his eyes, wanting to focus only on that feeling.

"I am terrified, lēkia." She whispered softly, her breasts trembling in a broken breath, he moved away to look at her, his hand cupped her soft, warm cheek.

"Marry me, issa dōna rūklon (my sweet flower). Marry me and I will protect you. I will caress you, adore you, hold you in my arms, I will give you everything." He said in a quivering, low voice, placing the emphasis on the last word, so final, direct, betraying how desperate he was.

She looked at him for a moment, shocked, her lips twitching in disbelief, in terror and something else that shone in her dark eyes, but which he did not comprehend.

"You don't have to do this. Sacrifice yourself for me." She mumbled with a blush of shame, as if she thought his suggestion stemmed from his logic and tactics, from helping her not to leave her home, rather than from his feelings.

"How much longer do you want to torment me? Shall I fall on my knees before you and beg?" He asked resentfully, pain emerging from his throat with every word he spoke, her eyebrows arched in disbelief, her breasts began to rise and fall rapidly in accelerated, ragged breathing.

Her face expressed that only now did she realise what he meant.

"Marry me, brother. Marry me and never leave me again." She whispered so quietly that he barely heard her, they looked at each other with wide eyes, not believing what had just left their mouths, flushes of shame and doubt burning their cheeks.

He shuddered and drew in a loud breath as she placed her hands on his shoulders and climbed tentatively into his lap, startling him completely, he felt a jolt of heat, his cock so hard that he felt like it was about to explode.

All he felt was a squeeze in his throat and the heavy pounding of his heart when her soft fingers gently grasped his hand, her face blushing with embarrassment and despair, a sigh full of arousal escaped her lips as she pulled her gown up, slipping it slowly between her legs.

They both opened their mouths wide and gasped loudly, surprised apparently at how intimate and shameless this sensation was, he thought in disbelief that she was leaking with desire, her hot entry pulsating restlessly under his fingers, her hand pressing them harder against her quivering flesh, eager to feel him deeper.

"− please − please −" She whimpered, breathing loudly, looking at him pleadingly with her dark eyes full of tears, he stared at her in shock wondering if it was possible that he had made a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation, that contrary to what he thought, she was reciprocating his affection.

His lack of hesitation, his nubs that dug into her fleshy, hot womanhood surprised her so much that she squealed and hopped up on his lap, he put his free arm around her and held her in place, not letting her escape.

"− easy, little dove − shhhh −" He hushed her, his two fingers sinking into her plump muscles, collecting her moisture that leaked from her thirsty, throbbing core, he stared at her, seeing the expression on her face indicating that this experience had shocked her, sweet, soft moans erupted from her puffy, glistening lips, her hips involuntarily began to move to the rhythm of his hand.

"− that's it − let me take care of you − brothers know what is best for their sisters, don't they? −" He hummed low as if he were speaking to a small child, she only nodded, clearly having trouble concentrating, he sighed in pleasure as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her moist, sweet lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

He murmured into her mouth with delight, thinking with awe that indeed her skin felt like the flesh of a fruit, wet and sticky to the touch, his nubs teasing her bud hidden between her folds, he could feel her bouncing in his lap and trembling all over, quivering in his arms as his fingers roamed around that spot, their breaths raspy and loud, full of desire.

"− y-yes − right here, lēkia − mghmm −" She babbled in between their messy, saliva-wet kisses, he dared to slip his tongue between her plump lips answered by her sweet purr of pleasure, his hand all soaked with her juices, his long, slender fingers digging into her skin in circular, sure motions.

"− just like that − soaking wet for me − issa dōna hāedar (my sweet little sister) −" He cooed in delight, feeling his swollen length pushing impatiently against his breeches, thinking only of how wonderful it would be to feel her, to watch his fat cock open her wide, her tight folds glistening from her moisture.

"− mhm −" She hummed between passionate, deep, ferocious kisses, a combination of their lips, teeth and tongues licking against each other.

She tilted her head back and moaned loudly as his fingers slowly made their way inside her, exploring her throbbing, swollen core, his thumb pressing her pearl, his nubs searching intensely for the spot he'd read so much about in books, and when he found it her walls began to clench around him in convulsions, a pathetic whimper escaping her lips.

"− o-oh gods, brother, yes, please, please, please −" She mewled desperately, clasping her hands in his long hair, rising and falling on his fingers with a loud click of her moisture, he grasped the nape of her neck with his free hand and pulled her close, forcing her lips, swollen from his caresses, to join his in sticky, hot kiss.

"− come on, little one − I can feel you are close − thaaat's it, there we go −" He gasped out into her throat when a powerful shudder ran through her body, her moans of delight erupting from her mouth again and again as her hot muscles began to clench greedily around his fingers, sucking him inside, his hand all sticky with her fulfilment.

He was panting loudly along with her, cuddling her quivering body, thinking of how wonderfully warm and fleshy her insides were, how perfectly she would squeeze his cock once he could possess her whole, his sweet wife, filling her to the brim with his seed every night.

He intended to perform his marital duty with passionate devotion.

"− such a good girl − you did so well for me, dōna hāedar −" He praised her, wanting to reassure and soothe her, stroking her soft hair, pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, his hand between her thighs cupped over her pulsing, moist womanhood.

The smell of her wetness, of her flesh, of her sex filled his entire lungs, so lewd, ungodly and wonderfully carnal, his lips placed involuntarily little butterfly kisses on her beautiful face, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted in delight and disbelief, her hands clenched on the material of his chemise.

He grasped her fingers in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing them with tenderness and reverence, his other hand stroking unashamedly her plump bare buttock hidden beneath the material of her gown.

"Now it's my turn."

_____

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